“Well, I believe so,” returned his sister, graciously.  “He is coming to dinner, so you can give him your check.”

It was a great day for Cis and Charlie when they arrived in London to stay with “auntie,” who was at the station to receive and convey them to Wilton Street.

Charlie still looked pale and thin enough to warrant a general treatment of cuddling and coddling calculated to satisfy any affectionate young woman’s heart.  They were to sleep at Miss Payne’s residence, in order to be rested and fresh for their journey to the sea-side next day.

Miss Payne herself was unusually amiable, for she had let her house satisfactorily for the greater part of the season, and this as Katherine paid for the Sandbourne villa, was clear gain.

When the boys and their auntie drove up to Miss Payne’s abode she was a good deal annoyed to find De Burgh at the door in the act of leaving a card.  He hastened to hand her out of the carriage, exclaiming: 

“This is the first bit of luck I have had for weeks.  You always manage to be out when I call.  Come along, my boys.  What lucky little fellows you are to come to town for the season!”

“Ah, but we are not going to stay in town.  We are going to the sea-side to bathe, and to sail in boats, and—­”

“Run in, Charlie, like a good boy,” interrupted Katherine.  “Your tea will be quite ready.”

“I suppose you will think me horribly intrusive if I ask you to let me come in?” said De Burgh.  There was something unusually earnest in his tone.

“Oh, not at all,” returned Katherine, politely, though she would have much preferred bidding him good-morning.  “Here, Sarah, pray take the boys to their room and get their things off.  I am sure they want their tea.”

Miss Payne’s sedate elderly house-maid looked quite elated as she took Charlie’s hand and, preceded by Cecil, led him upstairs.

“Are you really ‘out’ when I come?” asked De Burgh when they reached the drawing-room.

Katherine took off her hat and pushed her hair off her brow as she seated herself in a low chair.

“Yes, I think so.  I do not usually deny myself to any visitor.”  She looked up, half amused, half interested, by the almost imploring expression of his usually hard face.

“I rather suspect I am not a favored guest?”

“Why do you say that, Mr. De Burgh? am I uncivil?”

“No.  What a fool I am making of myself!  Tell me, are you really going away to-morrow to bury yourself alive?”

“I am really.”

“After all, I believe you are right. I am always bored in London.  Women think it a paradise.”

“I like London so well that I shall probably make it my headquarters.”

“It’s rather premature for you to make plans, isn’t it?”

“Whether it is or not, I have arranged my future much to my own satisfaction.”

“The deuce you have!  What, at nineteen?”