her as to give her just cause to move away, but yet so near as to
make his conversation with her quite private.

"I don't think that will be very likely," she replied, not knowing
what to say.

"I think it is very likely. For myself, I hate surprises. I could not
bring myself to fall in upon your track unawares. I shall go abroad,
but it will not be till the late autumn, when the summer heats are
gone,--and I shall endeavour to find you."

"To find me, Mr Grey!" There was a quivering in her voice, as she
spoke, which she could not prevent, though she would have given
worlds to prevent it. "I do not think that will be quite fair."

"It will not be unfair, I think, if I give you notice of my approach.
I will not fall upon you and your friends unawares."

"I was not thinking of them. They would be glad to know you, of
course."

"And equally, of course! or, rather, much more of course, you will
not be glad to see me? That's what you mean?"

"I mean that we had better not meet more than we can help."

"I think differently, Alice,--quite differently. The more we meet the
better,--that is what I think. But I will not stop to trouble you
now. Good night!" Then he got up and went away, and her father went
with him. Mr Vavasor, as he rose from his chair, declared that he
would just walk through a couple of streets; but Alice knew that he
was gone to his club.

CHAPTER LXIV

The Rocks and Valleys

During these days Mrs Greenow was mistress of the old Hall down in
Westmoreland, and was nursing Kate assiduously through the calamity
of her broken arm. There had come to be a considerable amount of
confidence between the aunt and the niece. Kate had acknowledged to
her aunt that her brother had behaved badly,--very badly; and the
aunt had confessed to the niece that she regarded Captain Bellfield
as a fit subject for compassion.

"And he was violent to you, and broke your arm? I always knew it was
so," Mrs Greenow had said, speaking with reference to her nephew. But
this Kate had denied. "No," said she; "that was an accident. When he
went away and left me, he knew nothing about it. And if he had broken
both my arms I should not have cared much. I could have forgiven him
that." But that which Kate could not forgive him was the fault which
she had herself committed. For his sake she had done her best to
separate Alice and John Grey, and George had shown himself to be
unworthy of the kindness of her treachery. "I