“Thanks,” Kate said, with a feeling of dreariness. Instead of Fred’s conversation this was a poor exchange. And she grew more and more sorry for him, and more and more compassionate of herself as the evening stole on. Several of the people who interested her most had left within the last few days. There was but the moderate average of country-house visitors left; people who were not remarkable for anything--neither witty, nor pretty, nor particularly entertaining--and yet not to be complained of in any way. She did her duty to them as became Mr Crediton’s daughter, and was very solicitous to know that they were comfortable and had what they liked; but she missed Madeline, she missed Lady Winton, she missed her acrid old godfather, who was said to be fond of nobody but Kate; and, above all, she missed Fred Huntley--poor Fred! A week had passed, somewhat weakening this impression, when Fred returned, quite as suddenly as he went away. He was seen walking up the avenue when the party were at luncheon, and Kate’s heart gave a little jump at the sight of him. “Why, there is Huntley come back again!” some one cried, but he did not make his appearance at lunch; and it was only when he came into the drawing-room before dinner that Kate had any opportunity of seeing what change had been wrought in him by the discovery of his sentiments towards herself. Fred was playing a part; but, like every other actor in life who plays his part well, had come to believe in it himself, and to feel it real. He came up to her with a certain confused but melancholy frankness. “Miss Crediton,” he said, “I am afraid you cannot like to see me, but I have come about business. I would not for the world, for any other reason, have brought what must be an annoyance upon you.” And then Kate had lifted to him a pair of very sympathetic, almost tender, eyes. “Indeed I don’t know why I should not like to see you,” she said, quietly. “You have always been very kind to me.” “Kind!” he had answered, turning away with a gesture of impatience, and not another word passed between them until the evening was almost over, and all opportunity past. He was so slow, indeed, to take advantage of any opportunity, that Kate felt half angry--wondering had the man quite got over it? had he ever meant anything? But at the very last, when she turned her head unthinking, all at once she found his eyes upon her, and that he was standing close by her side. “I suppose I must not ask for my old situation,” he said, softly. “I have been a fool and forfeited all my advantages because I could not win the greatest. You used to speak to me once--of the subject most interesting to yourself.” “I don’t think it would be in the least interesting to you _now_, Mr Huntley,” said Kate, not without a little pique in her voice. “Ah, you don’t know me,” he said. “I think I could interest myself in anything that was interesting to you.”