While the mother was giving that account of the young Fanshawes, and the father interposing his questions about Cicely’s health, their son was working himself up into a fever of determination. He eyed Kate at the other side of the table, with a certain rage of resolution mingling with his love. She should not escape him like this. She should answer him one way or another. He could bear anything or everything from her except this silence; but that he would not bear. She should tell him face to face. He might have lost the very essence and joy of life, but still he should know downright that he had lost it. This passion was growing in him while the quiet slumberous time crept on, and all was told about Cicely Fanshawe. Poor Cicely! just Kate’s age, and sent to Nice to die; but that thought never occurred to the vehement young lover, nor did it occur to Kate, as she sat and ate her grapes, and gave little glances across the table, and divined that he was rising to a white heat. “I must run off to my own room, and say it is to do my packing,” Kate said to herself, with a little quake in her heart; and yet she would rather have liked--behind a curtain or door, out of harm’s way--to have heard him say what he had to say. Mrs Mitford was later than usual of leaving the table--and she took Kate by the arm, being determined apparently to _contrarier_ everybody on this special evening, and made her sit down on the sofa by her in the drawing-room. “My dear, I must have you to myself for a little while to-night,” she said, drawing the girl’s hands into her own. And then she sat and talked. It seemed to Kate that she talked of everything in heaven and earth; but the old singing had come back to her ears, and she could not pay attention. “Now he is coming,” she said to herself; “now I shall be obliged to sit still all the evening; now I shall never be able to escape from him.” By-and-by, however, Kate began to feel piqued that John should show so little eagerness to follow her. “Yes, indeed, dear Mrs Mitford, you may be sure I shall always remember your kindness,” she said, aloud. But in her heart she was saying in the same breath, “Oh, very well; if he does not care I am sure I do not care. I am only too glad to be let off so easy;” which was true, and yet quite the reverse of true.