“Yes, he has gone away,” said Mr Crediton, “this morning, before some of us were out of bed. I have his farewells to make. He did not know it would be necessary for him to go when he left us last night.” “I hope there is nothing the matter at Westbrook,” said one of Fred’s intimates; but Kate did not say a word. The room swam round her for one moment. Gone away! Was it so serious as that, then? The self-possessed Fred, had matters been so grave with him that flight was his only refuge? She was so startled that she did not know what to think. She was sorry, and surprised, and fluttered, and excited, all in a breath. She did not pay any attention to the conversation for some minutes, though she was sufficiently mistress of herself to take the usual part in it, and to go on dispensing cups of tea. Gone away! It was very fine, very honourable, very provoking of him. She had meant to bring him down to his level very kindly and skilfully, and cure him of all hopes, while still she kept him bound in a certain friendly chain. And now he had cut it all short, and taken the matter into his own hands. It cannot be denied that Kate was a little vexed at the moment. No doubt, if she had been left alone she would have got over it in the course of the day, and recovered her composure, and thought no more of Fred Huntley than she had done two days ago; but she was not destined to be left to herself. The first thing that happened was that Mr Crediton remained in the breakfast-room till everybody was gone, and called her to him. The most indulgent of fathers was looking somewhat stern, which was a thing of itself which utterly puzzled as well as dismayed the girl whom he had scarcely ever thwarted in the whole course of her life. “Kate,” he said, “you took no notice when I said Fred Huntley had gone away--so I suppose he told you why it was?” “He never said a word to me of going away, papa,” faltered Kate. “But you know the cause? and I hope it will be a warning to you,” said Mr Crediton. “I have seen this going on for some days, and I meant to have spoken to you. A girl in your position has no right to distinguish a man as you did poor Fred.” “But, dear papa,” cried Kate, feeling very penitent yet very much flattered--as if somebody had paid her a very nice compliment, she said afterwards--“you cannot think it was my fault; I only talked to him like the rest. If I talked to him a little more, it was about--Mr Mitford. And he knew all the time. How was I to suppose it could come to any harm?” “Don’t let me hear of any other man being taken in by your confounded confidences--about Mr Mitford,” said her father, with an amount of rudeness and contemptuous impatience, such as perhaps had never been shown to Kate before in all her life.