"Come, come, Kate, don't speak like that to me," said her friend; "you know perfectly well how dear you are to me, and what an interest I take in every thing that nearly or remotely concerns you. I'm sure you can't deny that, my dear." A bend of the head, a softened expression in the face were the sole answer. "And I must say," continued Lady Henmarsh, "I am very much mortified at the way Gordon Frere has set people talking about you." "About _me?_" "Yes, my dear, about you. He paid you very marked attention, and you received it with quite enough complacency to set people talking--don't be angry, Kate, I don't blame you; you were not to know that he meant nothing. And then, for you, and me, the nearest friend you had--a friend standing, in the eyes of the world, in the place of a mother--to be the only people of his acquaintance, as it appears we are, ignorant of the fact that he was going abroad immediately. Just suppose, Kate, you had cared for him as much as he tried to make you, and as I am very much afraid many people think you do! No, a male flirt is my abhorrence, and Gordon is one _aux bouts des ongles_. I assure you, Lady Daventry--and you know she is not at all an ill-natured woman, or given to scandal--asked some very unpleasant questions. I really wish I had seen the gentleman; every one else seems to have seen him. He was in town only three days, and I really believe he called in person on every one else, though he only left a card for Sir Timothy. Did he call here?" Lady Henmarsh asked the question very suddenly; and as Katharine answered it, her cheeks reddened with a painful blush, which did not fade again during the interview. "No, Lady Henmarsh, he did not." "Ah, I thought so. And now, my dear Kate, let me speak to you, as I feel, with the affection of a mother and the experience of a woman of the world. Gordon Frere has treated you very ill; he has exposed you to comments, very injurious and painful to any girl, still more so to a girl situated as you are. He might have made you miserable, as well as ridiculous, if he had succeeded in making you love him. Now you must defeat his unmanly triumph, and silence all the talk among our countless dear friends who are amusing themselves at your expense. Your being ill just now is peculiarly unfortunate; I know they will say you are shutting yourself up, and doing the _Didone abbandonata_. You have rather unfortunately good health, Katharine, for this sort of thing, and have long defied hot suns and iced creams too successfully to escape suspicion by pleading them now. I really wish, my dear girl, you would come out for a drive; there are still many people to see you--take an old woman's advice, Kate, and don't disdain precaution, because you are not conscious of its need. _No one_ can afford to be laughed at; and if you are wise, you will reject Mr. Gordon Frere's legacy of ridicule."