“Oh yes, I do! only you don’t like me to jump on you, and auntie doesn’t mind about her clothes.”  And he kissed her heartily.

“Do you want to come back to Castleford?”

“What, now? when the holidays begin next week?”—­this with a rueful expression.  “Why, we were to have a sailing boat, and old Norris the sailor and his boy are to come out every evening.”

“Then you don’t want to come?”

“Oh, mayn’t we stay a little longer, mother?  It is so nice here!”

“You may stay as long as your aunt cares to keep you, for all I care,” cried Mrs. Ormonde, somewhat spitefully.

“Oh, thank you, mother dear—­thank you!” throwing his arms round her neck.  “I’ll be such a good boy when I come back; but it is nice here.  Then you have baby, and he does not worry you as much as we do.”  Katherine thought this a very significant reply.

“There! there!” cried Mrs. Ormonde, disengaging herself from the warm clinging arms.  “Go and wash your hands; they are frightfully dirty.”

“It’s clean dirt, mother.  I stopped on the beach to help Tom Damer to build up a sand fort.”

“Why did Miss North let you?”

“Oh, I was by myself!  I don’t want any one to take care of me,” said Cecil, proudly.

“Good heavens! do you let the child walk about alone?” cried Mrs. Ormonde, with an air of surprise and indignation.

“Run away to Miss North,” said Katherine, and as Cecil left the room she replied:  “As Cecil is nine years old, Ada, and a very bright boy, I think he may very well be let to take care of himself.  The school is not far, and he cannot learn independence too soon.”

“Perhaps so.  But of course you know better than I do.  You were always more learned, and all that; besides, you are not over anxious, as a mother would be.”

“Nor careless either,” said Katherine thinking of the nights at Castleford when she used to steal to the bedside, of little feverish, restless Charlie, while his mother kept within the bounds of her own luxurious chamber.

“No, no; certainly not,” returned Mrs. Ormonde, remembering it was as well not to offend so strong a person as she felt Katherine to be.  “Only Cecil is a tiresome, self-willed boy, and very likely to get into mischief.”

“If you wish it, Ada, I shall, of course, have him escorted to and fro to school.”

“Oh, just as you like.  I suppose you know the place better than I do.”

“Colonel Ormonde has never come down to see me,” resumed Katherine, after a pause.  “You must tell him I am quite hurt.”

“Well, dear, you must know that Duke is rather vexed with you.”

“Vexed with me!  Why?” asked Katherine, opening her eyes.

“You see, he thinks you ought to have come to us for a while; and then De Burgh came back from this last time in such a bad temper that my husband thought you were not behaving well to him—­making a fool of him, in short; inviting him down here to amuse yourself, and then refusing him, if you did refuse.”