ty Heron. There was something so winning and so
childlike about her at times, that he dropped unconsciously into the old
familiar tone. Then he would try to draw back, and would succeed,
perhaps, in saying something positively rude or unkind, which would
bring the tears to her eyes, and the flush of vexation to her face. At
least, if it was not really unkind it sounded so to Kitty, and that came
to the same thing. And when she was vexed, he was illogical enough to
feel uncomfortable.

But Kitty's crowning offence was her behaviour at a dinner-party, on the
occasion of the christening of Mrs. Heron's little girl. Hugo Luttrell
and the two young Grants from Dunmuir were amongst the guests; and with
them Kitty amused herself. She did not mean any harm, poor child; she
chattered gaily and looked up into their faces, with a gleeful
consciousness that Rupert was watching her, and that she could show him
now that some people admired her if he did not. Archie Grant certainly
admired her prodigiously; he haunted her steps all through the evening,
hung over the piano when she sang a gay little French _chanson_; turned
over a portfolio of Mr. Heron's sketches with her in a corner. On the
other hand, Hugo, who took her in to dinner, whispered things to her
that made her start and blush. Vivian would have liked very much to know
what he said. He did not approve of that darkly handsome face, with the
haggard, evil-looking eyes, being thrust so close to Kitty's soft cheeks
and pretty flower-decked head. He was glad to think that he had
prevailed on Angela to leave Netherglen. He was not fond of Hugo
Luttrell.

He was stiffer and graver than usual that evening; not even the
appearance of the newly-christened Dorothy Elizabeth, in a very long
white robe, won a smile from him. He never approached Kitty--never said
a word to her--until he was obliged to say good-night. And then she
looked up to him with her dancing eyes and pretty smile, and said:--

"You never came near me all the evening, and you had promised to sing a
duet with me."

"Is the little coquette trying her wiles on me!" thought Rupert,
sternly; but aloud he answered, with grave indifference,

"You were better employed. You had your own friends."

"And are you not a friend?" cried Kitty, biting her lip.

"I am not your contemporary. I cannot enter into competition with these
younger men," he answered, quietly.

Kitty quitted him in a rage. Elizabeth encountered her