"Helen kept up with him for a time, for his mother's sake, but unluckily he has put himself beyond the pale now, one way and another. It is too disastrous about this pretty child! What on earth does she see in him?" "Simply a means of escaping from her home," said Rose--"the situation working out! But who knows whether he hasn't got a wife already? Nobody should trust this young man farther than they can see him." "It musn't--it can't be allowed!" said Catharine, with energy. And, as she spoke, she seemed to feel again the soft bloom of Hester's young cheek against her own, just as when she had drawn the girl to her, in that instinctive caress. The deep maternity in Catharine had never yet found scope enough in the love of one child. Then, with a still keener sense of the various difficulties rising along Meynell's path, Flaxman and Rose returned to the anxious discussion of Barron's move and how to meet it. Catharine listened, saying little; and it was presently settled that Flaxman should himself call on Dawes, the colliery manager, that afternoon, and should write strongly to Barron, putting on paper the overwhelming arguments, both practical and ethical, in favour of silence--always supposing there were no further developments. "Tell me"--said Rose presently, when Flaxman had left the sisters alone--"Mary of course knows nothing of that letter?" Catharine flushed. "How could she?" She looked almost haughtily at her sister. Rose murmured an excuse. "Would it be possible to keep all knowledge from Mary that there _was_ a scandal--of some sort--in circulation, if the thing developed?" Catharine, holding her head high, thought it would not only be possible, but imperative. Rose glanced at her uncertainly. Catharine was the only person of whom she had ever been afraid. But at last she took the plunge. "Catharine!--don't be angry with me--but I think Mary is interested in Richard Meynell." "Why should I be angry?" said Catharine. She had coloured a little, but she was perfectly composed. With her gray hair, and her plain widow's dress, she threw her sister's charming mondanity into bright relief. But beauty--loftily understood--lay with Catharine. "It _is_ ill luck--his opinions!" cried Rose, laying her hand upon her sister's. "Opinions are not 'luck,'" said Catharine, with a rather cold smile. "You mean we are responsible for them? Perhaps we are, if we are responsible for anything--which I sometimes doubt. But you like him--personally?" The tone was almost pleading. "I think he is a good man." "And if--if--they do fall in love--what are we all to do?" Rose looked half whimsically--half entreatingly at her sister. "Wait till the case arises," said Catharine, rather sharply. "And please don't interfere. You are too fond of match-making, Rose!" "I am--I just ache to be at it, all the time. But I wouldn't do anything that would be a grief to you."