said Kate, in a low but firm voice. 'I thought what
a change it would be for you from that life of brightness and festivity to
this existence of dull and unbroken dreariness.'

'No, no, no! Don't say that! Do not fancy that I am not happier than I
ever was or ever believed I could be. It was the castle-building of that
time that I was regretting. I imagined so many things, I invented such
situations, such incidents, which, with this sad-coloured landscape here
and that leaden sky, I have no force to conjure up. It is as though the
atmosphere is too weighty for fancy to mount in it. You, my dearest Kate,'
said she, drawing her arm round her, and pressing her towards her, 'do not
know these things, nor need ever know them. Your life is assured and safe.
You cannot, indeed, be secure from the passing accidents of life, but they
will meet you in a spirit able to confront them. As for me, I was always
gambling for existence, and gambling without means to pay my losses if
Fortune should turn against me. Do you understand me, child?'

'Only in part, if even that,' said she slowly.

'Let us keep this theme, then, for another time. Now for _ces messieurs_. I
am to invite them?'

'If there was time to ask Miss O'Shea to come over--'

'Do you not fancy, Kate, that in your father's house, surrounded with
your father's servants, you are sufficiently the mistress to do without a
chaperon? Only preserve that grand austere look you have listened to me
with these last ten minutes, and I should like to see the youthful audacity
that could brave it. There, I shall go and write my note. You shall see how
discreetly and properly I shall word it.'

Kate walked thoughtfully towards a window and looked out, while Nina
skipped gaily down the room, and opened her writing-desk, humming an opera
air as she wrote:--

'KILGOBBIN CASTLE.

'DEAR MR. WALPOLE,--I can scarcely tell you the pleasure I feel at the
prospect of seeing a dear friend, or a friend from dear Italy, whichever
be the most proper to say. My uncle is from home, and will not return till
the day after to-morrow at dinner; but my cousin, Miss Kearney, charges
me to say how happy she will be to receive you and your fellow-traveller
at luncheon to-morrow. Pray not to trouble yourself with an answer, but
believe me very sincerely yours, 'NINA KOSTALERGI.'

'I was right in saying luncheon, Kate, and not dinner--was I not? It is
less formal.'

'I suppose so; that is, if it was ri