“Though I do not care to stay with Ada, I want to go to town to-morrow for a little shopping, and to see Mr. Newton if I can.  I will take the quick train at half-past eight and return in the evening.  You might send to meet the nine o’clock express.  Should anything occur to keep me, I will telegraph.”

“Very well”—­Miss Payne’s usual reply to Katherine’s propositions.  “But are you quite sure you feel equal to the journey?”

“Yes, quite equal,” returned Katherine, with a short deep sigh.  “I believe it will do me good.”

That Errington had been stunned by the blow which had fallen so suddenly upon him cannot be disputed.  His first and bitterest concern was dread lest the character of his father’s house, which had always stood so high, lest the honor of his own name, should suffer the smallest tarnish.  It was this that made him so eager to ascertain the full liabilities of the firm, so ready to sacrifice all he possessed so that no one save himself should be the loser.  “If I accepted a handsome fortune from transactions over which I exercised no supervision, I must hold myself doubly responsible for the result,” he argued, and at once set to work to turn all he possessed into money.

In truth the prospect of poverty did not dismay him.

His tastes were very simple.  It was the loss of power and position, which wealth always bestows, which he would feel most, and the necessity of renouncing Lady Alice.

This was imperative.  Yet it surprised him to perceive how little he felt the prospect of parting with her on his own account.  Indeed he was rather ashamed of his indifference.  It was for Lady Alice he felt.  It would be such a terrible disappointment—­not that Errington had much personal vanity.  He hoped and thought Lady Alice Mordaunt liked him in a calm and reasonable manner, which is the best guarantee for married happiness.  But it was the loss of a tranquil home, a luxurious life, an escape from the genteel poverty of a deeply embarrassed earl’s daughter to the ease and comfort of a rich man’s wife, that he deplored for her.  Poor helpless child! she would probably find a rich husband ere long who would give her all possible luxuries, for a noble’s daughter of high degree is generally a marketable article.  But he, Miles Errington, would have been kind and patient.  Would that other possible fellow be kind and patient too?  Knowing his own sex, Errington doubted it.  He had a certain amount of the generosity which belongs to strength.  To children, and the kind of pretty, undecided women who rank as children, he was wonderfully considerate.  But it was quite possible that were he married to a sensible, companionable wife he might be exacting.

At present it seemed highly improbable that he should ever reach a position which would enable him to commit matrimony.  Thirty-four is rather an advanced age at which to begin life afresh.

The prospect of bachelorhood, however, by no means dismayed him.  Indeed it was more a sense of his social duties as a man of fortune and a future senator that had impelled him to seek a wife, not an irresistible desire for the companionship of a ministering spirit.  He was truly thankful that his marriage had bean delayed, and that he was not hampered by any sense of duty toward a wife in his design of sacrificing his all to save his credit.