as taking such a view. Yet Mrs. Peyton ought at least to know what had
happened: was it not, in the last resort, she who should pronounce on
her son's course? For a moment Kate was fascinated by this evasion of
responsibility; she had nearly decided to tell Denis that he must begin by
confessing everything to his mother. But almost at once she began to shrink
from the consequences. There was nothing she so dreaded for him as that any
one should take a light view of his act: should turn its irremediableness
into an excuse. And this, she foresaw, was what Mrs. Peyton would do. The
first burst of misery over, she would envelop the whole situation in a mist
of expediency. Brought to the bar of Kate's judgment, she at once revealed
herself incapable of higher action.

Kate's conception of her was still under arraignment when the actual Mrs.
Peyton fluttered in. It was the afternoon of the second day, as the girl
phrased it in the dismal re-creation of her universe. She had been thinking
so hard of Mrs. Peyton that the lady's silvery insubstantial presence
seemed hardly more than a projection of the thought; but as Kate collected
herself, and regained contact with the outer world, her preoccupation
yielded to surprise. It was unusual for Mrs. Peyton to pay visits. For
years she had remained enthroned in a semi-invalidism which prohibited
effort while it did not preclude diversion; and the girl at once divined a
special purpose in her coming.

Mrs. Peyton's traditions would not have permitted any direct method of
attack; and Kate had to sit through the usual prelude of ejaculation and
anecdote. Presently, however, the elder lady's voice gathered significance,
and laying her hand on Kate's she murmured: "I have come to talk to you of
this sad affair."

Kate began to tremble. Was it possible that Denis had after all spoken? A