HANDLING THE RIBBONS.

De Burgh was told off to take Katherine in to dinner that day and the next, and bestowed a good deal of his attention on her during the evening. He rather amused her, for he was a new type to her. The men she had met during her sojourn on the Continent were chiefly polished French and Italians, whose softness and respectful manner to women were perhaps exaggerated, and a sprinkling of diplomatic and dilettante Englishmen. De Burgh's style was curiously—almost roughly—frank, yet there was an unmistakable air of distinction about him. He seemed not to think it worth while to take trouble about anything, yet he could talk well when by chance a topic interested him, Katherine would have been very dull had she not perceived that he was attracted by her. She was by no means so exalted a character as to be indifferent to his tribute; nevertheless she was half afraid of the cynical, outspoken, high-born Bohemian, who seemed to have small respect for people or opinions. She showed little of this feeling, however, having held her own with spirit in their various arguments, as, it need scarcely be said, they rarely agreed.

"What is this mysterious piece of work I see constantly in your hands?" asked De Burgh, taking his place beside Katherine when the men came in after dinner a few days after his arrival.

"It is a black silk stocking for Cecil."

"One of the nephews, eh? So you are capable of knitting! It must be a dreary occupation."

"No; it becomes mechanical, and it is better than sitting with folded hands."

"I am not sure it is. I have great faith in natures that can take complete rest—men who can do nothing, absolutely nothing—and so create a reserve fund of fresh energy for the next hour of need. There is no strength in fidgety feverishness."

"There is not much feverishness in knitting," returned Katherine, beginning a new row.

"There is very little feverishness about you , yet you are not placid. I am extending and verifying my original estimate of your character, you see."

"A most interesting occupation," said Katherine, carelessly.

" Yes , most interesting. I wish I had more frequent opportunities of studying it; but one never sees you all day. Where do you hide yourself?"

"I take long rambles with the children, and—" She paused.

"Does it amuse you to play nurse-maid?"

"Yes, at present. Then my nephews and I were playfellows long ago."

"I imagine it is a taste that will not last."

"Perhaps not."

"Miss Brereton and Lady Alice, with Errington and myself, are going to ride over to Melford Abbey to-morrow. You will, I hope, be of the party?"

"Thank you. I do not ride."

"It is rather refreshing to meet a young lady who is not horsy, but it is a loss to yourself not to ride."

"I dare say it is. Yet what one has never known cannot be a loss. I am sorry I was not accustomed to ride in my youth."

"It is not too late to learn, remote as that period must be," said De Burgh, smiling. "You are in the headquarters of horsemen and horsewomen at present. Appoint me your riding-master, and in a couple of months I shall be proud of my pupil."

"I am not particularly brave," she returned, "and the experiment would produce more pain than pleasure."

"Pain! nothing of the kind. I have a capital lady's horse, steady as a rock, splendid pacer, temper of an angel. He is quite at your service. Let me telegraph for him, and begin your lessons the day after to-morrow." De Burgh raised himself from his lounging position, and leaned forward to urge his pleading more earnestly. "Let me persuade you. You will thank me hereafter."

"Thank you," said Katherine, shaking her head. "It is too late. I shall never learn how to ride, but I should like to know how to drive."

"There I can be of use to you too. You will want an instructor. Pray take me!"

The last words, spoken a little louder than the rest, caught Mrs. Ormonde's ear as she was crossing the room, and she paused beside her sister-in-law to ask, "Take him for what?—for better or worse, Katherine?"

"Blundering little idiot!" thought De Burgh; while Katherine answered, with remarkable composure.

"Nothing so formidable; only to be my instructor in the art of driving."

"Well, and do you accept?"

"Yes; I shall be very pleased to learn. I should like to be able to 'conduct' a pair of ponies, as the French would say."

"Ah yes! and cut a dash in the Park," said Mrs. Ormonde, taking the seat De Burgh reluctantly vacated for her. "I don't see why she should not, Mr. De Burgh; do you?"

"Certainly not, provided only Miss Liddell can handle the ribbons."

"Very well, Katherine: you devote yourself to acquire the art here, and then join us in a house in town this spring. I was reading the advertisements in the Times to-day. I always look at the houses to let, and there is one to let in Chester Square which would suit us exactly; that is, if you will join. She ought to have a season in town, ought she not, Mr. De Burgh?"

He looked keenly at Katherine, and smiled. "Yes, Miss Liddell ought to taste the incomparable delights of the season by all means. Life is incomplete without it."

"I should like to experience it certainly, for once, but I shall be more in the mood for such excitements next year— perhaps ," returned Katherine, gravely.

"Oh, my dear Katie, never put things off! At all events, be presented. That would be a sort of beginning; and I am to be presented too, so we might go together."

"I do not intend to be presented," said Katherine; "it would be needless trouble. I have not the least ambition to go to court."

"But, Katherine, it is absolutely necessary to take your proper position in society. It is not, Mr. De Burgh?"

"What is your objection?" asked De Burgh, disregarding his hostess. "Are you too radical, or too transcendental, or what?"

"Neither. I simply do not care to go, and do not see the necessity of going."

"You were always the strangest girl!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, a good deal annoyed. "But still, if you were with us , you might see a good deal—"

"You know, Ada, I am fixed for this year, and would not change even if I could."

"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Errington, coming from the next room. "But if you are disengaged, Lady Alice would be greatly obliged by your playing for her."

"Certainly," cried Katherine. She had a sort of pleasure in obliging Errington, and Lady Alice for his sake; and putting her knitting into its little case, she rose and accompanied him to what was called the music-room, because it contained a grand piano and an old, nearly stringless violin.

"I don't think," said De Burgh, looking after her, "that your sister-in-law is quite as much under your influence as you fancy."

"Oh, don't you?" cried Mrs. Ormonde, feeling a flash of dislike to Katherine thrill through her. It was terribly trying to find an admirer, of whom she was so proud, drawn from her by that "tiresome, obstinate girl"; it was also enough to vex a saint to see her turn a deaf ear to her more experienced and highly placed sister's suggestion. "When you know a little more of her you will see how obstinate and headstrong she is."

"Ah! troublesome qualities those, especially in a rich woman, and a handsome one to boot. There is something very taking about that sister-in-law of yours, Mrs. Ormonde. If I were Lady Alice I wouldn't trust Errington with her: she would be a dangerous rival."

"Oh, nonsense! Do you think our Admirable Crichton could go wrong?"

"I don't know. If he ever does, he'll go a tremendous cropper."

"Well, Mr. De Burgh, if you would like to go in and win, you had better make the running now. Once she 'comes out' in town, you will find a host of competitors."

"Ha! I suppose you think a rugged fellow like me would have little or no chance with the curled darlings of May Fair and South Kensington?" Mrs. Ormonde looked down on her fan, but did not speak. De Burgh laughed. "Who is going to bring her out?" he asked.

"I am," with dignity.

De Burgh's reply was short and simple. He said, "Oh!" and the interjection (is there an interjection now?—I am not young enough to know) brought the color to Mrs. Ormonde's cheek and a frown to her fair brow. "The young lady is, on the whole, original," he continued. "She does not care to be presented."

"Do you believe her? I don't. She only said so from love of contradicting."

"Yes, I believe her; she does not care about it now; but she will probably get the court fever after a plunge into London life. Who is singing?—that is something different from the penny whistling Lady Alice gives us."

"Why it must be Katherine! It is the first time she has sung since she came. She is always afraid of breaking down, she says. I don't believe she has sung since the death of her mother." De Burgh's only reply was to walk into the next room. Leaving Mrs. Ormonde in a state of irritation against him, Katherine, and the world in general.

Katherine was singing a gay Neapolitan air. She had a rich, sympathetic voice, and sang with arch expression.

Errington stood beside her, and Lady Alice, the rector's wife and one or two other guests, were grouped round.

"Thank you. That is thoroughly Italian. You must have studied a good deal," said Errington, who rather liked music, and was accustomed to the best.

"Very nice indeed," added Lady Alice. "Very nice" was her highest praise. "I should like to learn the song."

"I do not think it would suit you," observed Errington.

"Why, Katherine, I had no notion you could 'tune up' in this way," cried Colonel Ormonde. "Give us another, like a good girl; something English—'Robin Adair.' There was a fellow in 'ours' used to sing it capitally."

"I cannot sing it, Colonel Ormonde. I am very sorry."

"Oh, Katherine! I have heard you sing it a hundred times," cried Mrs. Ormonde, joining them. "Why, it was a great favorite with poor dear Mrs. Liddell."

"I cannot sing it, Ada," repeated Katherine, quick and low. As she spoke she caught Errington's eyes.

"No one ought to dictate to a songstress," he said, very decidedly. "Give us anything you like, so long as you sing."

Kate bent her head, feeling that he understood her, and her hands wandered over the keys for a minute; then, with a glance at Colonel Ormonde, she began "Jock o' Hazeldean."

Katherine was not the kind of girl to nurse her grief, to dwell upon it with morbid insistence: but she remembered, warmly, lovingly. At times gusts of passionate regret swept over her and shook her self-control, and she dared not attempt her mother's favorite song; the mere request for it called up a cloud of memories. She saw the dear face, the sweet faded blue eyes that used to dwell upon her so tenderly, with such unutterable content. No other eyes would ever look upon her thus; never again could she hope for such perfect sympathy as she had once known.

"Does that make up for 'Robin Adair,' Colonel Ormonde?" she said when the song was ended.

"A very good song and very well sung, but it's not equal to 'Robin Adair.'"

"Lady Alice, will you try that duet of Helmer's?" asked Katherine; and Lady Alice graciously assented.

"I shall miss your accompaniment dreadfully when I leave," she said, when the duet was accomplished. "I feel so sure when you play, and you help me. I hope you will come and see me. Lady Mary, my aunt, would be very pleased; don't you think she would?" to Errington, appealingly.

"Certainly. I hope, Miss Liddell, you will not desert Alice. If you will permit it, Lady Mary Vincent will have the pleasure of calling on you."

"That will be very kind," returned Katherine, softly. If this man were safely married and settled, she thought, she would like to be friends with his wife, and serve him in any way she could. If his eyes did not always confuse and distress her, how much she could like him!

As she rose from the piano, De Burgh, who had been speaking aside with Colonel Ormonde, left him to join her. "I have settled it all with Ormonde," he said. "I am to have the pony-carriage and the dun ponies (not those Mrs. Ormonde generally drives) to-morrow; so, if it does not rain, I'll give you your first lesson; that is, if you will allow me."

"You are very prompt," returned Katherine, "and very good to take so much trouble. If it is fine, then, to-morrow. Pray arm yourself with patience. Are not the dun ponies rather frisky?"

"Spirited, but free from vice. Ormonde had them from my stables. It's no use learning to drive with dull, inanimate brutes. You'll consider yourself engaged?"

"I do, if Mrs. Ormonde does not want me to go anywhere with her."

"She will not," said De Burgh, confidently.

"Good-night," returned Katherine. "Tell Mrs. Ormonde I have stolen away, for I have a slight headache."

"What? going already?" cried De Burgh. "No more songs? The evening, then, is over."

The following day was soft and bright. March had evidently made up his martial mind to go out in a lamb-like fashion, and De Burgh was unusually amiable and communicative. "When shall you be ready to start?" he asked, following Katherine from the breakfast-table.

"To start where?" she asked.

"What! have you forgotten our plans of last night?" was his counter-question. "I am to give you your first lesson in driving this morning. I only wait your orders before going to see the ponies put in. We had better take advantage of the fine morning."

"Ay, that's right, De Burgh; make hay while the sun shines," said Ormonde, with his usual tact and jocularity. "But it would be better to have tried a quieter pair than Dick and Dandie."

"I think you may trust Miss Liddell to me," returned De Burgh, impatiently. "Well, when shall I bring round the trap?"

"Whenever you like. I am afraid you have set yourself a tiresome task."

De Burgh laughed. "If you prove careless or disobedient, why, I'll not repeat the dose. In half an hour, then, I'll have the carriage at the door."

That half-hour was spent by Katherine in explaining to Cis and Charlie that she could not go out with them that day, for the morning was promised to De Burgh, and after luncheon she had undertaken to try over the song which had pleased her with Lady Alice, who was to leave the next day. The little fellows thought themselves very ill-used. But Miss Richards, who had greatly prized her deliverance from long muddy rambles since Katherine's advent, promised to take them to fish in a stream which ran between the Castleford and Melford properties.

"Do you suppose I shall dare to touch the reins of these terrible creatures?" said Katherine when De Burgh dashed up to the door, and held the spirited, impatient animals steady with some difficulty.

"We'll get rid of some of the steam first, and you will get accustomed to their playfulness," he returned. "Here, Ormonde, haven't you a rug for Miss Liddell? It may come on to rain."

"Yes; here you are;" and Colonel Ormonde, who was examining the turn-out, tucked up his fair guest carefully, and warned them to be back in good time, as he wanted De Burgh to ride over with him to see some horses which were for sale a mile or two at the other side of Monckton.

"What a frightful pace;" said Katherine, after they had whirled out of the gates, yet feeling comforted by De Burgh's evident mastery of the ponies.

"You are not frightened? Don't you think I can manage them?"

"I am not comfortable, because I am not accustomed to horses and furious driving."

"Oh, they will settle down presently. Where shall we go—through Garston? It's a fine place. Perhaps you have seen it?"

"I have not, and I should like to see it very much." She was delighted with the suggestion. It would be a help to her, a consolation, to see so visible a token of Errington's wealth.

"Curious fellow, Errington," resumed De Burgh. "I suppose he is about the only man who isn't spoiled by the most unbroken prosperity. Still, a fellow who never did anything wrong in his life is rather uninteresting; don't you think so?"

"Has he never done anything wrong? That seems rather incredible."

"If he has, he has kept it deucedly close. But you are right; it is very incredible."

They drove on for a while in silence. It was a delicious morning—a blue sky flecked with fleecy white clouds, bright sunlight, birds singing, hedges budding, all nature welcoming the first sweet in toxication of renewed youth stirring in her veins. Katherine loved the spring-time, and felt its influence profoundly, but it was the first spring in which she had been alone; this time last year she—they—had been at Bordighera. How heavenly fair it had been! But De Burgh was speaking:

"You did not hear, or rather heed, what I said, Miss Liddell; that's not civil."

"Indeed it is not—forgive me. What did you say?"

"I suppose you like country life best, as you demolished Mrs. Ormonde's scheme respecting a house in town so promptly?"

"I enjoy looking at the country, but I know nothing of country life. I am not sure I should like it."

"What's your objection to drawing-rooms and balls—the season generally?"

"I do not object; but is my deep mourning suited to these gayeties, Mr. De Burgh?"

"Well, no. I beg your pardon. Mrs. Ormonde started it, you know. I fancy it would take double-distilled mourning to keep her out of the swim."

"It is impossible for one nature to judge another which is totally different, fairly."

"Very true and very prudent. I have not got to the bottom of your character yet, but I am pursuing my studies," said De Burgh, with a grim sort of smile. "You see they are settling down to their work now," pointing his whip to the ponies. "I'll give you the reins in a minute or two."

"I think I ought to begin with something quieter," said Katherine, looking at them uneasily.

De Burgh laughed. "There is a nice stretch of level road before us—nothing to interfere with you. Change places with me, if you please. Here, put the reins between your fingers—so; now a turn of the wrist guides them. I'll hold your hand for a bit. You had better not let the whip touch them—so. There you are. I'll show you how to handle the ribbons before you are a fortnight older; that is if you will come out every day with me."

"Would you take that trouble?" exclaimed Katherine.

"I can take a good deal of trouble if I like my work. Now hold them steady, and keep your eye on them. When we come to the trees, on there, turn to the left."

"So far there doesn't seem to be much difficulty; they seem to go all right of their own accord," she said, after a few minutes.

"They are a capital pair; but there is nothing to disturb them."

For the rest of the way to Garston, De Burgh only spoke to give the lesson he had undertaken, and Katherine found herself growing interested and pleased. When they entered the gates, however, she asked him to take the reins. She wanted to look about her, to remark the surroundings of Errington's house.

It was a fine place, somewhat flat, perhaps, but beautiful with splendid trees, and a small lake, through which ran the stream in another part of which Cis and Charlie were going to fish. The house stood well, the grounds were admirably laid out and perfectly kept; evidences of wealth were on all sides.

"I suppose it costs a great deal of money to keep up a place like this," said Katherine, breaking a silence which had lasted some minutes: De Burgh never troubled himself to speak unless he really had something to say.

"I shouldn't care to live here on less than ten thousand a year," he returned, glancing round.

"And has Mr. Errington all that money?"

"His father has a good deal more. He bought this place for him, I believe. Old Errington is very wealthy, and on his last legs, from what I hear."

"Ten thousand a year! What a quantity of money!"

"Hem! I think I could get through it without much trouble."

"Then you have always been rich?"

"Rich! I have been on the verge of bankruptcy all my life. I never knew what it was to have enough money."

"But you seem to have gone everywhere and done everything."

"Yes, by discounting my future at a ruinous rate," he returned, with a sort of reckless candor that amused his hearer. "You scarcely understand me, I suppose."

"I think I do. I know how uncomfortable it is to want money."

"Indeed! Still, it's not so hard on women as on men."

"Why?"

"We want so much more."

"Then you have so many more chances of earning it."

"Earning it! Oh, that is a new view of the case!"

"I should not mind doing it; that is, if I could succeed."

"Do you know, I took you for your nephews' governess. It never crossed my mind you were an heiress. As a rule, heiresses are revolting to the last degree."

"I feel the compliment."

"Remember, I like their money, only I object to its being encumbered."

"You are wonderfully frank, Mr. De Burgh."

"I dare say you said 'brutally frank' in your thoughts, Miss Liddell, and you are right. I am rather a bad lot, and a little too old to mend. But let it be a saving clause in your mind, if I ever recur to it, that the fact of your being nice enough for the governess impelled me to offer driving lessons to the heiress. Will you take the reins? You might hold them forever if you choose."

"Not yet, thank you—when we get out on the road again," returned Katherine, not seeing or seeming to see his covert meaning. "You are surely not a democrat?"

"A democrat? No. I have no particular view as regards politics; but if the devil ever got so completely the upper hand in this world as to leave it without a class to serve and obey us , their natural superiors, I'd decline to stay here any longer, and descend by the help of a bullet to lower regions, where I should have better society."

"More congenial society, I am sure," said Katherine, laughing, though revolted by his tone. She felt it would never do to show she was. "You are quite different from any one I ever met. Do you know, you give me the idea of a wicked Norman Baron in the Middle Ages."

De Burgh laughed, as if he rather enjoyed the observation. "I know," he said; "a regular melodramatic villain, 'away with him to the lowest dungeon beneath the castle moat' sort of fellow, who would draw a Jew's teeth before breakfast and roast a restive burgher after. I wonder, considering you possess the two strongest attractions for men of this description—money and (may I say it?) beauty—that you trust yourself with me."

"Ah! you concealed your vile opinions successfully; so you see I could not know my danger," returned Katherine, laughing. "You are not at all a modern man."

"I accept the compliment."

"Which I did not intend for one. When we get through the gates I will take the reins again."

"Certainly; but the ponies' heads will be turned homeward, and I am afraid they will pull. They have steadied down wonderfully." The rest of the drive was spent in careful instruction, and Katherine was surprised to find how quickly the time had gone when they reached the house.

De Burgh interested her in spite of her dislike of the opinions and sentiments he expressed. There was something picturesque about the man, and she felt that he was attracted to her in a curious and almost alarming manner. Yet she was conscious of an inclination to play with fire. It was some time since she felt so light-hearted. The sight of Errington's luxurious surroundings seemed to take something from the load upon her conscience, and this sense of partial relief gave brilliancy to her eyes, as the fresh balmy air gave her something of her former rich coloring.

"By Jove!" cried Colonel Ormonde, as Katherine took her place at luncheon, "your drive has agreed with you. I've never seen you look so well. You must pursue the treatment. How did she get on, De Burgh?"

"Not so badly. But Miss Liddell is more timid than I expected. She'll get accustomed to the look of the cattle in a little while. Courage is largely made up of a habit. I'll take some of that cold lamb, Ormonde." And De Burgh spoke no more till he had finished his luncheon.

"Do you know, Miss Liddell, that my father was an old friend of your uncle's?" said Errington that evening, as he placed himself beside her on a retired sofa, while Miss Brereton was executing some gymnastics on the piano. "I have just been taking to Ormonde about him. I remember having been sent to call upon him—long ago, when I was at college, I think. He lived in some wild north-land; I remember it was a great way off. Then my father went for a trip to Calcutta, and I fancy lost sight of his old chum."

Katherine grew red and white as he spoke; she could only murmur, "Yes, I was told they had been friends."

"Then you must accept me as a hereditary friend," said Errington, kindly. "I shall tell my father that I have made your acquaintance, though he does not take much interest in anything now, I am sorry to say."

"I am sorry—" faltered Katherine.

"Both Lady Alice and I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in town," continued Errington, having waited in vain for her to finish her sentence. "I am going to see her safely in her aunt's charge to-morrow, and shall not return, I fancy, till you have left."

"You are both very good. I shall be most happy to see you again," returned Katherine, mastering her forces, though she felt ready to fly and hide her guilty head in any corner. Errington felt that she was unusually uneasy and uncomfortable with him, so made way the more readily for De Burgh, who monopolized her for rest of the evening.

The next day was wet, and for a week the weather was unsettled, so that Katherine had only one more lesson in driving before the party broke up, and De Burgh too was obliged to leave.

But Katherine prolonged her stay. Charlie, in ardor for fishing, had slipped into the river and caught a severe, feverish cold.

The way in which he clung to his auntie, the evident comfort he derived from her presence, the delight he had in holding her cool soft hand in his own burning little fingers, made him impossible for her to leave him. By the time he was able to sit up and play with his brother, poor Charlie was a pallid little skeleton, and his auntie bade him a tender adieu, determined to lose no time in finding sea-side quarters for the precious invalid. ILrVqiTY0tXWsjUyLCMsDOkHbV1bXG4vJHbmK3BnLjSXXyLkiwGKKSJPXUq2sPtZ

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