brought on us, by making Denis his heir--and I am sure I have no wish to
question the decrees of Providence." Mrs. Peyton paused again, and then
softly absorbed both of Kate's hands. "For my part," she continued, "I see
in it another instance of the beautiful ordering of events. Just after dear
Denis's inheritance has removed the last obstacle to your marriage, this
sad incident comes to show how desperately he needs you, how cruel it would
be to ask him to defer his happiness."

She broke off, shaken out of her habitual placidity by the abrupt
withdrawal of the girl's hands. Kate sat inertly staring, but no answer
rose to her lips.

At length Mrs. Peyton resumed, gathering her draperies about her with a
tentative hint of leave-taking: "I may go home and tell him that you will
not put off the wedding?"

Kate was still silent, and her visitor looked at her with the mild surprise
of an advocate unaccustomed to plead in vain.

"If your silence means refusal, my dear, I think you ought to realize the
responsibility you assume." Mrs. Peyton's voice had acquired an edge of
righteous asperity. "If Denis has a fault it is that he is too gentle, too
yielding, too readily influenced by those he cares for. Your influence is
paramount with him now--but if you turn from him just when he needs your
help, who can say what the result will be?"

The argument, though impressively delivered, was hardly of a nature to
carry conviction to its hearer; but it was perhaps for that very reason
that she suddenly and unexpectedly replied to it by sinking back into her
seat with a burst of tears. To Mrs. Peyton, however, tears were the signal