“You are a funny man!” said Cecil, after gazing at him in silence as he finished his repast.  “I wish you would come out in the boat with us.  Auntie said we might go.”

“Very well; ask her if I may come.”

“He may, mayn’t he?”—­chorus from both boys.

“Yes, if you really care to come:  but do not let the children tease you.”

“Do you give me credit for being ready to do what I don’t like?”

“I can’t say I do.”

“When do you start on this expedition?”

“About seven, which will interfere with your dinner, for Miss Payne and I have adopted primitive habits, and do not dine late; we indulge in high tea instead.”

“Nevertheless, I shall meet you at the jetty.  Till then adieu.”

“May we come with you?” cried the boys together—­“just as far as the hotel?”

“No, dears; you must stay at home,” said Katherine, decidedly.

“Then do let him come and see how the puppy is.  He has grown quite big.”

“Yes, I’ll come round to the kennel if you’ll show me the way,” replied De Burgh, with a smiling glance at Katherine.  “Till this evening, then,” he added, and bowing to Miss Payne, left the room, the boys capering beside him.

“I should say that man has breakfasted on honey this morning,” observed Miss Payne, with a sardonic smile.  “Does he think that he has only to come, to see, and to conquer?”

“He has been quite pleasant,” said Katherine.  “I wonder why he is not always nice?  He used to be almost rude at Castleford sometimes.”  She paused, while Miss Payne rose from the table and began to lock away the wine.  “I wonder what has become of Mr. Payne?  He has not been here for a long time.”

“What made you think of him?” asked his sister, sharply.

“I suppose the force of contrast reminded me of him.  What a difference between Bertie and Mr. De Burgh!—­your brother living only to help others, and utterly forgetful of self; he regardless of everything but the gratification of his own fancies—­at least so far as we can see.”

“Yes; Mr. De Burgh can hardly be termed a true Christian.  Still, Gilbert is rather too weak and credulous.  I suspect he is very often taken in.”

“Is it not better he should be sometimes, dear Miss Payne, than that some poor deserving creature should perish for want of help?”

“Well, I don’t know.  Self-preservation is the first law of nature, and if that law were more carefully obeyed, fewer would need help.”

“Life is an unsolvable problem,” said Katherine, and the remark reminded her of her humble friend Rachel.  She therefore sat down and wrote her a kind, sympathetic letter, feeling some compunction for having allowed so long an interval to elapse since her last.