“I ought to feel deeply grateful to you for overstepping the limits of conventionality in order to give me what is, no doubt, sound advice.”

“Do you mean that as a rebuke?” asked Errington, leaning a little forward to look into her eyes.  “Do you not think that a friendship, founded as ours is on most exceptional and unconventional circumstances, gives me a sort of right to speak of matters which may prove of the last importance to you?  You cannot realize how deeply interested I am in your welfare, how ardently I desire your happiness.”

The sincerity of his tone thrilled Katherine with pain and pleasure.  It was delightful to hear him speak thus, yet it would be better for her never to hear his voice again.

“I daresay I am petulant,” she said, looking down, “and you are generally right; but don’t you think in this case you are looking too far ahead, and attributing motives to Lord de Burgh of which he may be entirely innocent?”

“Of that you are the best judge,” returned Errington, coldly; and silence fell upon them—­a silence which Katherine felt to be so awkward that she rose, saying,

“I must find Mrs. Needham; she will wonder where I am;” and, Errington making no objection, they strolled slowly towards the front of the house, where most of the visitors were standing or sitting about.

There they soon discovered Mrs. Needham, in lively conversation with Lord de Burgh, who was a good deal observed by those present as his name and position were well known to almost all of Mrs. Needham’s set.  He turned quickly to greet Katherine, and spoke not too cordially to Errington, who after some talk with Mrs. Needham, quietly withdrew, and kept rather closely to Angela’s side.

The rest of the afternoon was spoiled for Katherine by a sense of irritation with Lord de Burgh, who scarcely left her, thereby making her so conspicuous that she could hardly refrain from telling him.

“What is the matter with you?” asked De Burgh, as they walked, together behind Mrs. Needham to the gate where their carriage awaited them.  “Do you know you have hardly said a civil word to me—­what have I done?”

“You are mistaken!  I never meant to be uncivil, I am only tired, and I have rather a headache.”

“You often have headaches.  Are you sure the ache is in your head?”

“No, I am not,” said Katherine, frankly.  “Don’t you know what it is to be out of sorts?”

“Don’t I, though?  If that’s what ails you I can understand you well enough.  I wish you would let me prescribe for you:  a nice long wandering through Switzerland, over some old passes into Italy (they are more delicious than ever, now that they are deserted), and then a winter in Rome.”

“Thank you,” returned Katherine, laughing.  “Perhaps you might also recommend horse exercise on an Arab steed.”

“Yes, I should.  You would look stunning in a habit.”