“They are odious in every one,” said Katherine, gravely.

“Now that I feel satisfied you are well and happy,” resumed Mrs. Ormonde, who had never put a single question respecting herself to Katherine, “there are one or two things I wanted to ask you.  Where are the boys?”

“They are still at Sandbourne; but they leave, I am sorry to say, at Easter.”

“Oh, they do!  It is an awfully expensive school.  Are you quite sure, Katherine, they will not send in the bill to me?”

“Quite sure, Ada, for I have paid in advance.”

“That was really very thoughtful, dear.  Then—­excuse my asking; I would not interfere with you for the world—­but what are you going to do with them in the Easter holidays?  I dare not have them at Castleford.  I should lose all the ground I have gained if such a thing was even hinted to the Colonel.”

“Why apologize for inquiring about your own children?  Do not be alarmed, they shall not go.  I am just now arranging for them to go to a school at Wandsworth, and for the Easter holidays Miss Payne has most kindly invited them.”

“Really!  How very nice!  I will send her a hamper from Castleford.  I can manage that much.  This is rather a nice little place,” continued Mrs. Ormonde, evidently much relieved and looking round.  “What lots of pretty things!  Is Mrs. Needham nice?  She seemed rather a flashy woman.  You must feel it an awful change from being an heiress, and so much made of, to being a sort of upper servant!  Do you dine with Mrs. Needham?”

“Yes, I really do, and go out to evening parties with her.”

“No, really?”

“It is a fact.  She is a kind, delightful woman to live with.  I am most fortunate.”

“Fortunate?  You cannot say that, Katie!  You are the most unfortunate girl in the world.  You know how penniless women are looked upon in society. I remember when Ormonde thought himself such a weak idiot for being attracted to me, all because I had no money.  It makes such a difference!  Why, there is Lord De Burgh; I met him yesterday, and asked him to have a cup of tea with me, and he never once mentioned your name.”

“Why should he?  I never knew Lord De Burgh,” said Katherine.

“Yes, you did, dear!  Why, you cannot know what is going on if you have not heard that old De Burgh died nearly a fortnight ago in Paris, and our friend has come in for everything.  He had just returned from the funeral, so he said, and is looking darker and glummer than ever.  Well, you know how he used to run after you.  I assure you he never made a single inquiry about you.  Heartless, wasn’t it?  I said something about that horrid man coming back, and—­would you believe it?—­he laughed in that odious, cynical way he has, and called me a little tigress.  The only sympathetic word he spoke was to call it an infernal business.  He doesn’t care what he says, you know.  Then he asked if Ormonde was tearing his hair about it.  What a pity you did not encourage him, Katie, and marry him!  Once you were his wife he could not have thrown you off.  Now I don’t suppose you’ll ever see him again.  I rather think Mrs. Needham does not know many of his set.”