“And I said to her, ‘Not at all. As it happens, Miss Grey is Lady Tamplin’s own cousin.’ What do you think of that?”
“Were you fighting my battles for me? That was very sweet of you.”
“You can put it that way if you like. There is nothing to me in a title. Vicar’s wife or no vicar’s wife, that woman is a cat. Hinting you had bought your way into Society.”
“Perhaps she was not so very far wrong.”
“And look at you,” continued Miss Viner. “Have you come back a stuck-up fine lady, as well you might have done? No, there you are, as sensible as ever you were, with a pair of good Balbriggan stockings on and sensible shoes. I spoke to Ellen about it only yesterday. ‘Ellen,’ I said, ‘you look at Miss Grey. She has been hobnobbing with some of the greatest in the land, and does she go about as you do with skirts up to her knees and silk stockings that ladder when you look at them, and the most ridiculous shoes that ever I set eyes on?’ ”
Katherine smiled a little to herself; it had apparently been worth while to conform to Miss Viner’s prejudices. The old lady went on with increasing gusto.
“It has been a great relief to me that you have not had your head turned. Only the other day I was looking for my cuttings. I have several about Lady Tamplin and her War Hospital and whatnot, but I cannot lay my hand upon them. I wish you would look, my dear; your eyesight is better than mine. They are all in a box in the bureau drawer.”
Katherine glanced down at the letter in her hand and was about to speak, but checked herself, and going over to the bureau found the box of cuttings and began to look over them. Since her return to St. Mary Mead, her heart had gone out to Miss Viner in admiration of the old woman’s stoicism and pluck. She felt that there was little she could do for her old friend, but she knew from experience how much those seemingly small trifles meant to old people.
“Here is one,” she said presently. “ ‘Viscountess Tamplin, who is running her villa at Nice as an Officers’ Hospital, has just been the victim of a sensational robbery, her jewels having been stolen. Amongst them were some very famous emeralds, heirlooms of the Tamplin family.’ ”
“Probably paste,” said Miss Viner; “a lot of these Society women’s jewels are.”
“Here is another,” said Katherine. “A picture of her. ‘A charming camera study of Viscountess Tamplin with her little daughter Lenox.’ ”
“Let me look,” said Miss Viner. “You can’t see much of the child’s face, can you? But I dare say that is just as well. Things go by contraries in this world and beautiful mothers have hideous children. I dare say the photographer realised that to take the back of the child’s head was the best thing he could do for her.”
Katherine laughed.
“ ‘One of the smartest hostesses on the Riviera this season is Viscountess Tamplin, who has a villa at Cap Martin. Her cousin, Miss Grey, who recently inherited a vast fortune in a most romantic manner, is staying with her there.’ ”
“That is the one I wanted,” said Miss Viner. “I expect there has been a picture of you in one of the papers that I have missed; you know the kind of thing. Mrs. Somebody or other Jones-Williams, at the something or other Point-to-Point, usually carrying a shooting-stick and having one foot lifted up in the air. It must be a trial to some of them to see what they look like.”
Katherine did not answer. She was smoothing out the cutting with her finger, and her face had a puzzled, worried look. Then she drew the second letter out of its envelope and mastered its contents once more. She turned to her friend.
“Miss Viner? I wonder—there is a friend of mine, someone I met on the Riviera, who wants very much to come down and see me here.”
“A man?” said Miss Viner.
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He is secretary to Mr. Van Aldin, the American millionaire.”
“What is his name?”
“Knighton. Major Knighton.”
“H’m—secretary to a millionaire. And wants to come down here. Now, Katherine, I am going to say something to you for your own good. You are a nice girl and a sensible girl, and though you have your head screwed on the right way about most things, every woman makes a fool of herself once in her life. Ten to one what this man is after is your money.”
With a gesture she arrested Katherine’s reply. “I have been waiting for something of this kind. What is a secretary to a millionaire? Nine times out of ten it is a young man who likes living soft. A young man with nice manners and a taste for luxury and no brains and no enterprise, and if there is anything that is a softer job than being secretary to a millionaire it is marrying a rich woman for her money. I am not saying that you might not be some man’s fancy. But you are not young, and though you have a very good complexion you are not a beauty, and what I say to you is, don’t make a fool of yourself; but if you are determined to do so, do see that your money is properly tied up on yourself. There, now I have finished. What have you got to say?”
“Nothing,” said Katherine; “but would you mind if he did come down to see me?”
“I wash my hands of it,” said Miss Viner. “I have done my duty, and whatever happens now is on your own head. Would you like him to lunch or to dinner? I dare say Ellen could manage dinner—that is, if she didn’t lose her head.”
“Lunch would be very nice,” said Katherine. “It is awfully kind of you, Miss Viner. He asked me to ring him up,
