"Nothing so formidable; only to be my instructor in the art of driving."

"Well, and do you accept?"

"Yes; I shall be very pleased to learn. I should like to be able to 'conduct' a pair of ponies, as the French would say."

"Ah yes! and cut a dash in the Park," said Mrs. Ormonde, taking the seat De Burgh reluctantly vacated for her. "I don't see why she should not, Mr. De Burgh; do you?"

"Certainly not, provided only Miss Liddell can handle the ribbons."

"Very well, Katherine: you devote yourself to acquire the art here, and then join us in a house in town this spring. I was reading the advertis.e.m.e.nts in the _Times_ to-day. I always look at the houses to let, and there is one to let in Chester Square which would suit us exactly; that is, if you will join. She ought to have a season in town, ought she not, Mr. De Burgh?"

He looked keenly at Katherine, and smiled. "Yes, Miss Liddell ought to taste the incomparable delights of the season by all means. Life is incomplete without it."

"I should like to experience it certainly, for once, but I shall be more in the mood for such excitements next year--_perhaps_," returned Katherine, gravely.

"Oh, my dear Katie, never put things off! At all events, be presented.

That would be a sort of beginning; and I am to be presented too, so we might go together."

"I do not intend to be presented," said Katherine; "it would be needless trouble. I have not the least ambition to go to court."

"But, Katherine, it is absolutely necessary to take your proper position in society. It is not, Mr. De Burgh?"

"What is your objection?" asked De Burgh, disregarding his hostess. "Are you too radical, or too transcendental, or what?"

"Neither. I simply do not care to go, and do not see the necessity of going."

"You were always the strangest girl!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, a good deal annoyed. "But still, if you were with _us_, you might see a good deal--"

"You know, Ada, I am fixed for this year, and would not change even if I could."

"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Errington, coming from the next room. "But if you are disengaged, Lady Alice would be greatly obliged by your playing for her."

"Certainly," cried Katherine. She had a sort of pleasure in obliging Errington, and Lady Alice for his sake; and putting her knitting into its little case, she rose and accompanied him to what was called the music-room, because it contained a grand piano and an old, nearly stringless violin.

"I don't think," said De Burgh, looking after her, "that your sister-in-law is quite as much under your influence as you fancy."

"Oh, don't you?" cried Mrs. Ormonde, feeling a flash of dislike to Katherine thrill through her. It was terribly trying to find an admirer, of whom she was so proud, drawn from her by that "tiresome, obstinate girl"; it was also enough to vex a saint to see her turn a deaf ear to her more experienced and highly placed sister's suggestion. "When you know a little more of her you will see how obstinate and headstrong she is."

"Ah! troublesome qualities those, especially in a rich woman, and a handsome one to boot. There is something very taking about that sister-in-law of yours, Mrs. Ormonde. If I were Lady Alice I wouldn't trust Errington with her: she would be a dangerous rival."

"Oh, nonsense! Do you think our Admirable Crichton could go wrong?"

"I don't know. If he ever does, he'll go a tremendous cropper."

"Well, Mr. De Burgh, if you would like to go in and win, you had better make the running now. Once she 'comes out' in town, you will find a host of compet.i.tors."

"Ha! I suppose you think a rugged fellow like me would have little or no chance with the curled darlings of May Fair and South Kensington?" Mrs.

Ormonde looked down on her fan, but did not speak. De Burgh laughed.

"Who is going to bring her out?" he asked.

"I am," with dignity.

De Burgh's reply was short and simple. He said, "Oh!" and the interjection (is there an interjection now?--I am not young enough to know) brought the color to Mrs. Ormonde's cheek and a frown to her fair brow. "The young lady is, on the whole, original," he continued. "She does not care to be presented."

"Do you believe her? I don't. She only said so from love of contradicting."

"Yes, I believe her; she does not care about it now; but she will probably get the court fever after a plunge into London life. Who is singing?--that is something different from the penny whistling Lady Alice gives us."

"Why it must be Katherine! It is the first time she has sung since she came. She is always afraid of breaking down, she says. I don't believe she has sung since the death of her mother." De Burgh's only reply was to walk into the next room. Leaving Mrs. Ormonde in a state of irritation against him, Katherine, and the world in general.

Katherine was singing a gay Neapolitan air. She had a rich, sympathetic voice, and sang with arch expression.

Errington stood beside her, and Lady Alice, the rector's wife and one or two other guests, were grouped round.

"Thank you. That is thoroughly Italian. You must have studied a good deal," said Errington, who rather liked music, and was accustomed to the best.

"Very nice indeed," added Lady Alice. "Very nice" was her highest praise. "I should like to learn the song."

"I do not think it would suit you," observed Errington.

"Why, Katherine, I had no notion you could 'tune up' in this way," cried Colonel Ormonde. "Give us another, like a good girl; something English--'Robin Adair.' There was a fellow in 'ours' used to sing it capitally."

"I cannot sing it, Colonel Ormonde. I am very sorry."

"Oh, Katherine! I have heard you sing it a hundred times," cried Mrs.

Ormonde, joining them. "Why, it was a great favorite with poor dear Mrs.

Liddell."

"I cannot sing it, Ada," repeated Katherine, quick and low. As she spoke she caught Errington's eyes.

"No one ought to dictate to a songstress," he said, very decidedly.

"Give us anything you like, so long as you sing."

Kate bent her head, feeling that he understood her, and her hands wandered over the keys for a minute; then, with a glance at Colonel Ormonde, she began "Jock o' Hazeldean."

Katherine was not the kind of girl to nurse her grief, to dwell upon it with morbid insistence: but she remembered, warmly, lovingly. At times gusts of pa.s.sionate regret swept over her and shook her self-control, and she dared not attempt her mother's favorite song; the mere request for it called up a cloud of memories. She saw the dear face, the sweet faded blue eyes that used to dwell upon her so tenderly, with such unutterable content. No other eyes would ever look upon her thus; never again could she hope for such perfect sympathy as she had once known.

"Does that make up for 'Robin Adair,' Colonel Ormonde?" she said when the song was ended.

"A very good song and very well sung, but it's not equal to 'Robin Adair.'"

"Lady Alice, will you try that duet of Helmer's?" asked Katherine; and Lady Alice graciously a.s.sented.

"I shall miss your accompaniment dreadfully when I leave," she said, when the duet was accomplished. "I feel so sure when you play, and you help me. I hope you will come and see me. Lady Mary, my aunt, would be very pleased; don't you think she would?" to Errington, appealingly.

"Certainly. I hope, Miss Liddell, you will not desert Alice. If you will permit it, Lady Mary Vincent will have the pleasure of calling on you."

"That will be very kind," returned Katherine, softly. If this man were safely married and settled, she thought, she would like to be friends with his wife, and serve him in any way she could. If his eyes did not always confuse and distress her, how much she could like him!