Work, and interest—­enforced, almost feverish interest—­in outside matters, were the only weapons with which she could fight the gnawing, aching pain of ceaseless regret that wore her heart.  How insignificant is the loss of fortune, and all that fortune brings, compared to the opening of an impassable gulf between one’s self and what has grown dearer than self, by that magic, inexplicable force of attraction which can rarely be resisted or explained!

Life with Mrs. Needham was very active, and although Katherine was necessarily left a good deal at home, she saw quite enough of society in the evening to satisfy her.  The all-accomplished Angela Bradley showed a decided inclination to fraternize with Mrs. Needham’s attractive secretary, but for some occult reason Katherine did not respond.  She fancied that Miss Bradley was disposed to look down with too palpably condescending indulgence from the heights of her own calm perfections on those storms in a teacup amid which Mrs. Needham agitated, with such sincere belief in her own powers to raise or to allay them.  Yet Miss Bradley was a really high-minded woman, only a little too well aware of her own superiority.  She was always a favored guest at the “Shrubberies,” as Mrs. Needham’s house was called, and of course an attraction to Errington, who was also a frequent visitor.  The evenings, when some of the habitues dropped in on their way to parties, or returning from the theatre (Mrs. Needham never wanted to go to bed!), were bright and amusing.  Moreover, Katherine had complete liberty of movement.  If Mrs. Needham were going out without her secretary, Katherine was quite free to spend the time with Miss Payne, or with Rachel Trant, whom she found more interesting.  At the house of the former she generally found Bertie ready to escort her home, always kindly and deeply concerned about her, but more than ever determined to convert her from her uncertain faith and worldly tendencies, to Evangelicalism and contempt for the joys of this life.

Already the days of her heirship seemed to have been wafted away far back, and the routine of the present was becoming familiar.  There was nothing oppressive in it.  Yet she could not look forward.  Hope had long been a stranger to her.  Never, since her mother’s death, since she had fully realized the bearings of her own reprehensible act, had she known the joy of a light heart.  Some such ideas were flitting through her mind as she was diligently copying Mrs. Needham’s lucubrations one afternoon, when the parlor maid opened the door and said, as she handed her a card, “The lady is in the drawing-room, ma’am.”

The lady was Mrs. Ormonde.

“Is Mrs. Needham at home?”

“No, ma’am.”

It was rather a trial, this, meeting with Ada, but Katherine could not shirk it.  She did not want to have any quarrel with the boys’ mother, so she ascended to the drawing-room.

There stood the pretty, smartly dressed little woman, all airy elegance, but the usually smiling lips were compressed, and the smooth white brow was wrinkled with a frown.  She was examining a book of photographs—­most of them signed by the donors.