“I am afraid I am not a wise child’s guide,” said De Burgh, laughing; “but they ran and tumbled about till they got into an awful pickle.  They are really capital little fellows, and most amusing.  When do they go back to school?”

“In about ten days—­on the 25th.  I assure you I quite dread their going to this Wandsworth place.  They have been asking, entreating me to let them go back to Sandbourne, but I think Cis at last grasps the idea that it is a question of money.”

“It’s an early initiation for him,” observed De Burgh, as if to himself.  Then, eagerly:  “You’ll be sure to come with us on Friday, Miss Liddell?  The boys will enjoy the performance ever so much more if you are with them.”

Katherine looked for half a second at Mrs. Needham, who nodded and frowned in a very energetic and affirmative way.  “I shall be very glad to enjoy it with them,” she said, hesitatingly, “if Mrs. Needham can spare me.”

“Of course I can,”—­briskly.  “Lord de Burgh, if you care for music—­not severe classical music, you know—­ballads, recitatives, and that sort of thing—­Hyacinth O’Hara, the new tenor, and Mr. Merrydew, that wonderful mimic and singer, are coming to me next Tuesday; I shall be delighted to see you.”

“Not so delighted, I am sure, as I shall be to come,” returned De Burgh, with unusual suavity.

“Very well—­half past nine.  Don’t be late, and don’t forget.”

“No danger of forgetting, I assure you.”

“By-the-bye,” resumed Mrs. Needham, as if seized with a happy thought, “Angela Bradley receives on Sunday afternoons at their delightful villa at Wimbledon all through the season.  Her first ‘at home’ will be the Sunday after next.  I am sure she will be delighted to see any friend of Miss Liddell’s.”

“If Miss Liddell will be so good as to answer for me, I shall be most happy to present myself.  To make sure of being properly backed up, suppose I call here for Miss Liddell and yourself, and and drive you down?

“Is it not rather far off to make arrangements?” asked Katherine, growing somewhat uneasy at thus drifting into a succession of of engagements with the man she half liked, half dreaded.

“Far off!” echoed Mrs. Needham.  “You don’t call ten days far off?  But I must run away and finish my letter.  A journalist is the slave of her pen.  Good morning, Lord de Burgh.  I’ll send the boys to you, Katherine.”

“That is an admirable and meritorious woman,” and De Burgh, drawing a chair beside the sofa where Katherine sat.  “Why are you so savagely opposed to anything like friendly intercourse with me—­so reluctant to let me do anything for you?  Do you think I am such a cad as to think that anything I could do would entitle me to consider you under an obligation?”

“No, indeed, Lord de Burgh!  I believe you to be too true a gentleman for—­”

“For what?  I see you are afraid of giving me what is called, in the slang of the matrimonial market, encouragement.  Just put all that out of your mind, Let me have a little enjoyment, however things may end, and, believe me, I’ll never blame you.  I am not going to trouble you with my hopes and wishes, not at least for some time; and then, whatever the upshot, on my head be it.”