In short, a lull had stilled the actors in this little drama.  The stream of events had entered one of the quiet pools which here and there hold the most rapid current tranquil for a time.

With Mrs. Ormonde all went well.  She had the newest and most charming gowns and bonnets, mantles and hats.  She found herself very well received by society, and quite a favorite with Lady Mary Vincent, who was a very popular person.  So much occupied was the pretty little woman that May was nearly over before she could find time to accept her sister-in-law’s repeated invitation to Cliff Cottage.

“I am going down to Sandbourne on Friday,” she said to De Burgh one evening as she was waiting for her carriage after a musical party at Lady Mary Vincent’s.

“Indeed!  I thought you were going last Monday.”

“Oh, I could not go on Monday.  But if I don’t go on Friday I do not think I shall manage my visit at all.  Tell me, what does Katherine find to keep her down there?  Is it Bertie Payne?”

“How can I tell?  She seems contented enough.  For that matter, she might find my society equally attractive.  Payne does not go down as often as I do.”

“No?—­but then Katherine has a leaning to sanctity, and you are no saint.”

“True.  By-the-way, talking of saints, there is a report that old Errington’s affairs were not left in as flourishing a condition as was expected.”

“Oh, nonsense!  It is some mere ill-natured gossip.”

“I hope so.  I think I will come down on Saturday and escort you back to town.”

“Pray do; it will enliven us a little.”  A shout of “Mrs. Ormonde’s carriage!” cut short the conversation, and Mrs. Ormonde did not see De Burgh again until they met at Cliff Cottage.

Mrs. Ormonde’s visit, long anticipated, did not prove an unmixed pleasure.  She objected to what she considered the terribly long drive of some five miles from the railway station to Katherine’s secluded residence; she turned up her pretty little nose at the smallness of the cottage and its general homeliness; she evinced an unfriendly spirit toward Miss Payne, who was perfectly unmoved thereby; and when the boys, well washed and spruced up, approached her, not too eagerly, she scarcely noticed them.  This, of course, reacted on the little fellows, who showed a decided inclination to avoid her.

She was tired after a warm journey and previous late hours, and dreadfully afraid that sea air and sun together would have a ruinous effect on her complexion.  When, however, she had had tea and made a fresh toilette, she took a less gloomy view of life at Sandbourne, and having recovered her temper, she remembered it would be wiser not to chafe her sister-in-law.

“To be sure,” thought the astute little woman, “the boys’ settlement is out of her power to revoke; but it would be rather good if she came to live with us, instead of filling the pockets of this prim, presumptuous, self-satisfied old maid.  I am sure she is awfully selfish, and I do hate selfishness.”