“I have already the pleasure of knowing Miss Liddell,” he returned, with a grave smile and stately bow, as he took the hand Katherine hesitatingly held out.

“Oh, indeed; I was not aware of it.”  Errington stood talking with Mrs. Needham, or, rather, answering her rapid questions respecting a variety of subjects, until she suddenly recognized some one to whom she was imperatively compelled to speak.  With a hasty, “Will you be so good as to take Miss Liddell to her friends?” she darted away with surprising lightness and rapidity, considering her size and solidity.

“Would you like to go upstairs?” asked Errington.

“If you please.”  Katherine was quivering with pain and pleasure at finding herself thus virtually alone with the man whose image haunted her in spite of her constant determined efforts to banish it from her mind.

On the first landing was a conservatory prettily lit and decorated, and larger than those ordinarily appended to London houses.  “Suppose we rest here,” said Errington.  “From the quiet which reigns above, I think some one is reciting and that is not an exhilarating style of amusement.”

“I should think not.  I have never heard any one attempt to recite in England.”

“May you long be preserved from the infliction!  There are very few who can make recitation endurable.”

After some enquiries for Colonel and Mrs. Ormonde, and a few observations on the beautiful, abundant flowers, Errington said:  “Won’t you sit down?  If it is not unpleasant to you, I should like to improve this occasion, as I rarely have an opportunity of seeing you.”

Katherine complied, and sat down on a settee which was behind a central group of tall feathery ferns.  She was another creature from the bright and somewhat coquettish girl who was always ready to answer De Burgh or Colonel Ormonde with keen prompt wit.  Silent, downcast, scarcely able to raise her eyes to Errington’s, yet too fascinated to resist his wish to continue their interview.

“I am very glad to meet you here,” began Errington in his calm, melodious voice.  “It is so much better for you to mix with your kind; it has a wholesome, humanizing influence, and may I venture to say that you are inclined to be morbid?”

“Can you wonder?” said Katherine, soft and low.

“Yes, I do.  There is no reason why you should not be bright and happy, and enjoy the goods the gods—­”

“No,” she interrupted, playing nervously with the flowers in her bouquet; “not given by the gods!  Stolen from you!” She did not raise her eyes as she spoke.

“I do beg you to put that incident out of your mind.  We have arranged the question of succession, as only I had a right to do.  No one else need know, and you will, I am sure, make a most excellent use of what is now really yours.  Forget the past, and allow me to be your friend.”

“I am always thinking of you,” she said, almost in a whisper.  “Yet it is always a trial to meet you.  I think I would rather not.  Tell me,” with a sudden impulse of tenderness and contrition, looking up to him with humid eyes, “are you well and happy?  How have you borne the terrible change in your life?”