“What a lot she takes out of herself!” said De Burgh, looking after her.

“She does indeed,” cried Mrs. Needham; “she is so unselfish.  I hate to see her worried.  I wonder if he has proposed?” she thought.

“I think he is pretty far gone.  Now pray don’t run away just now; Merrydew is going to give one of his musical sketches, and then I want to introduce you to Professor Gypsum.  He thinks there ought to be a rich coal seam on your South Wales property; he is a most intelligent, accomplished man.”

“Very well—­with pleasure,” said De Burgh, complacently.

It was rather a relief to be quite sure that De Burgh was safe out of the way for a few days.  His presence always disturbed her with a mixed sense of pain and self-reproach.  He gave her no opening to warn him off, yet she felt that he lost no opportunity of pushing his mines up to the defences; and she liked him—­liked him sincerely—­always believing there was much undeveloped goodness under his rough exterior.

Sunday came quickly, for the intervening days had been very fully occupied, and thus Katherine had been saved from too much thought of the boys and their possible trials.

It was a soft, lovely spring day.  The lilacs and laburnums had put on their ball-dresses for the season, and there was a fresh, youthful feeling in the air.  The villa of which Angela was the happy mistress was one of the few old places standing on the edge of the common at Wimbledon, and boasting mossy green lawns, huge cedar trees, and delightful shrubberies, paths leading through a well-disposed patch of plantation, and a fine view from the windows of the deep red-brick mansion, with its copings, window-heads, and pediments of white stone.

Katherine started with a brave determination to throw off dull care and enjoy herself, if possible—­why should she not?  Life had many sides, and, though the present was gloomy, there was no reason why its clouds should not hide bright sunshine which lay awaiting the future.  She had manoeuvred that Mrs. Needham should join an elderly couple of their acquaintance in an open carriage, and so avoided appearing in Lord de Burgh’s elegant equipage.

The grounds were already dotted with gaily dressed groups; for, although there were no formally invited guests, Miss Bradley’s Sundays were largely attended by her extensive circle of acquaintance, and this first Sabbath of really fine spring weather brought a larger number than usual.

“I am glad you put on that pretty black and white dress,” whispered Mrs. Needham, as they alighted and went into the hall.  “I see everyone is in their best bibs and tuckers;—­isn’t it a lovely house!  Ah! many a poor author’s brain has paid toll to provide all this.”

“I suppose so.”

“Miss Bradley is in the conservatory,” said a polite butler, and into a deliciously fragrant conservatory they were ushered.