It was a deceit--a small deceit; it looked so harmless, too--so innocent, almost humorous, half ridiculous; and she was a woman, and she could not put it away. Love, love, love! It would be her excuse and her forgiveness. She had appealed to Philip himself and in vain. Now she would pretend to go on with her old relations. It was so little to do, and the effects were so certain. In jealousy and in terror Philip would step out of himself and claim her. She had craft--all hungry things have craft. She had inklings of ambition, a certain love of luxury, and desire to be a lady. To get Philip was to get everything. Love would be satisfied, ambition fulfilled, the aims of refinement reached. Why not risk the great stake? Nancy came to tidy the room, and Kate said, “Where's Pete all this time, I wonder?” “Sitting in the fire-seat this half-hour,” said Nancy. “I don't know in the world what's come over the man. He's rocking and moaning there like a cow licking a dead calf.” “Would he like to come up, think you?” “Don't ask the man twice if you want him to say no,” said Nancy. Blushing and stammering, and trying to straighten his black curls, Pete came at Nancy's call. Kate had few qualms. The wound she had received from Philip had left her conscienceless towards Pete. Yet she turned her head a little sideways as she welcomed him. “Are you better, then, Kirry?” said Pete timidly. “I'm nearly as well as ever,” she answered. “You are, though?” said Pete. “Then you'll be down soon, it's like, eh?” “I hope so, Pete--quite soon.” “And fit for anything, now--yes?” “Oh, yes, fit for anything.” Pete laughed from his heart like a boy. “I'll take a slieu round to Ballure and tell Philip immadiently.” “Philip?” said Kate, with a look of inquiry. “He was saying this morning you wouldn't be equal to it, Kirry.” “Equal to what, Pete?” “Getting--going--having--that's to say--well, you know, putting a sight on the parson himself one of these days, that's the fact.” And, to cover his confusion, Pete laughed till the scraas of the roof began to snip. There was a moment's pause, and then Kate said, with a cough and a stammer and her head aside, “Is that so _very_ tiring, Pete?” Pete leapt from his chair and laughed again like a man demented. “D'ye say so, Kitty? The word then, darling--the word in my ear--as soft as soft----” He was leaning over the bed, but Kate drew away from him, and Nancy pulled him back, saying, “Get off with you, you goosey gander! What for should you bother a poor girl to know if sugar's sweet, and if she's willing to change a sweetheart for a husband?” It was done. One act--nay, half an act; a word--nay, no word at all, but only silence. The daring venture was afoot. Grannie came up with Kate's dinner that day, kissed her on both cheeks, felt them hot, wagged her head wisely, and whispered, “I know--you needn't tell _me!_” XIV.