But Lady Desmond's entrance cut short their conversation; a profusion of farewell speeches followed--promises from Kate to visit them--assurances from the visitors of their content--a large bouquet from Lady Desmond--and they were gone. Time rolled on with a pleasant sameness for the remainder of the month of trial agreed on by the cousins. Kate entered more into the little society which assembled two or three times a week at Lady Desmond's house, and the fair widow herself began a line of conduct to which, as she felt Kate would be much opposed, she always endeavoured to avoid any allusion when they were alone. Colonel Dashwood was unmistakeably "_epris_" with the beautiful widow; and she, though scarcely encouraging him, certainly showed a preference for his society, intended to pique Lord Effingham. Once only did Kate venture to hint at the imprudence of such a proceeding. "It can never be successful, for it is untrue; Lord Effingham does not appear to notice it, and it is a cruel injustice to a kind-hearted, honourable man, who loves you. I am afraid. Dear Georgy, this is miserable work, it will destroy your better nature--let us leave this place. Forgive me for asking, but how can you prefer the uncertain selfishness of the Earl, clever and polished as he is, to that frank, manly, high-bred, Colonel Dashwood? I wish you would love him instead." "Kate," cried Lady Desmond, almost angrily, "how can you accuse me of such deceitful conduct? Colonel Dashwood is a man of the world and can take care of himself. I beg you will not misunderstand me so much again. I shall leave this in a few weeks--till then, have patience before you condemn me." "I do not condemn you, dearest; I only wish to see you happy," said Kate, anxiously. "Indeed I believe you, _cara miâ_," said Lady Desmond, relaxing from the air of hauteur with which she had last spoken. "Let us, however, drop the disagreeable subject." And Kate felt she had been treading on forbidden ground. She retired to her own room after this conversation, and seating herself on the window-seat, thought long though vaguely of the species of unhappy cloud thus thrown over her cousin's life, by the tenacious grasp she had permitted an absorbing passion to take of her heart, hiding from her the beauties and the pleasures which might have colored her life. "How terrible to be thus dependent for happiness on the smiles or frowns of a cold-hearted man. Ah! if my own beloved grandpapa was alive, she would listen to him." And at that remembrance, her thoughts took a different direction, and dwelt long and sadly on the kind and venerated old man. Then again the restlessness which ever seized her when she reflected on her utter dependence, returned with startling force, and she felt as if she could, at that moment, set out to seek her fortune alone.