Her own troubles had occupied her too much.  Now that time was beginning to accustom her to their weight, her deep interest in Rachel revived even with more than its original force.  Katherine did not make intimates readily.  Let there be ever so small a nook in the mind, ever so tiny an incident in the past, which must be hidden from all eyes, and there can be no free pass for outsiders, however dear or valued, to the sanctum of the heart, which must remain sealed, a whispering gallery for its own memories and aspirations.  But Rachel Trant never dreamed of receiving confidence, nor, after once having strung herself up to tell her sad story, did she allude to her bitter past, save by an occasional word expressing her profound sense of the new life she owed to Katherine; nor did the latter, when talking with her face to face, ever realize that there was any social difference between them.  Rachel’s voice, manner, diction, and natural refinement were what might be expected from a gentlewoman, only that through all sounded a strain of harsh strength, the echo of that fierce despair from whose grip the tender consideration of her new friend had delivered her.  The evening’s sail was very tranquil and soothing.  De Burgh was agreeable in the best way; that is, he was sympathetically silent, except when Katherine spoke to him.  The boys and their governess sat together in the bow of the boat, where they talked merrily together, occasionally running aft to ask more profound questions of De Burgh and auntie.  Fear of rheumatism and discomfort generally kept Miss Payne at home on these occasions.

De Burgh walked with Miss Liddell to her own door, but wisely refused to enter.  “No,” he mused, as he proceeded to his hotel; “I have had enough of a solitude a trois.  It’s an uncomfortable, tantalizing thing, and though I have been positively angelic for the last seven or eight hours, I can’t stand any more intercourse under Miss Payne’s paralyzing optics.  I wonder if any fellow can keep up a heavenly calm for more than twenty-four hours?  Depends on the circulation of the blood.  I wonder still more if it is possible that Katherine is more disposed to like me than she was?  She is somehow different than when I was here last.  So divinely soft and kind!  I have known a score or two of fascinating women, and gone wild about a good many, but this is different, why the deuce should she not love me?  Most of the others did.  Why?  God knows.  I’ll try my luck; she seems in a propitious mood.”

CHAPTER XXI.

“NO.”

Next morning’s post brought a letter from Bertie, which was a kind of complement to Katherine’s reflections of the night before.  After explaining that he had hitherto been unable to take a holiday from his various avocations, he promised to spend the following week with his sister and Miss Liddell.  He then described the success of Mrs. Needham’s bazar, and proceeded thus: