She looked at him with something like reproach in her eyes. “If you are going to talk flippantly, I think I will postpone what I have to say until another time.” “My dear Kate, give a man a chance. He can’t reform in a moment. I never had my flippancy checked before. Now then, I am serious again. What appalling—I mean—you see how difficult it is, Katherine—I mean, what serious subject shall we discuss?” “Some other time.” “No—now. I insist on it. Otherwise I will know I am unforgiven.” “There is nothing to forgive. I merely wanted to tell you something more than you know about my own history.” “I know more now than that man in the story.” “He did not object to the knowledge, you know. He objected to receiving it from a third person. Now I am not a third person, am I?” “Indeed, you are not. You are first person singular—at present—the first person to me at least. There, I am afraid I have dropped into flippancy again.” “That is not flippancy. That is very nice.” The interval shall be unreported. At last Katherine said quietly, “My mother came from this part of England.” “Ah! That is why you wanted to come here.” “That is why I wanted to come here. She was her father’s only daughter, and, strange to say, he was very fond of her, and proud of her.” “Why strange?” “Strange from his action for years after. She married against his will. He never forgave her. My father did not seem to have the knack of getting along in the world, and he moved to America in the hope of bettering his condition. He did not better it. My father died ten years ago, a prematurely broken down man, and my mother and I struggled along as best we could until she died two years ago. My grandfather returned her letter unopened when mother wrote to him ten years ago, although the letter had a black border around it. When I think of her I find it hard to forgive him, so I suppose some of his nature has been transmitted to me.” “Find it hard? Katherine, if you were not an angel you would find it impossible.” “Well, there is nothing more to tell, or at least, not much. I thought you should know this. I intended to tell you that last day on shipboard, but it seemed to me that here was where it should be told—among the hills and valleys that she saw when she was my age.” “Katherine, my dear, do not think about it any more than you can help. It will only uselessly depress you. Here is a man coming. Let us find out now whether we have lost our way or not.” They had. Even after that they managed to get up some wrong lanes and byways, and took several wrong turnings; but by means of inquiry from every one they met, they succeeded at last in reaching the place they were in search of. There was an old and grey porter’s lodge, and an old and grey gateway, with two tall, moss-grown stone pillars, and an iron gate between them. On the top of the pillars were crumbled stone shields, seemingly held in place by a lion on each pillar.