"Don't think about him, dear. If he does not want to be friendly with you, don't try to be friendly with him."

"I won't," said Kitty, in the tone of one who has taken a solemn resolution. Then she rose, and surveyed herself critically in Elizabeth's long mirror. "I am sure I looked very nice," she said. "This pink dress suits me to perfection and the lace is lovely. And then the silver ornaments! I'm glad I did not wear anything that he gave me, at any rate. I nearly put on the necklace he sent me when I was seventeen; I'm glad I did not."

"Dearest Kitty, why should you mind what he thinks?" said Elizabeth, coming to her side, and looking at the exquisitely-pretty little figure reflected in the glass, a figure to which her own, draped in black lace, formed a striking contrast. But she was almost sorry that she had said the words, for Kitty immediately threw herself on her cousin's shoulder and burst into tears. The fit of crying did not last long, and Kitty was unfeignedly ashamed of it: she dried her tears with a very useless-looking lace handkerchief, laughed at herself hysterically, and then ran away to her own room, leaving Elizabeth to wish that the sense and spirit that really existed underneath that butterfly-like exterior would show itself on the surface a little more distinctly.

But the last thing she dreamed of was that Kitty, with all her little follies, would outrage Rupert's sense of the proprieties in the way she did in the course of the following morning.

Rupert was standing alone in the drawing-room, looking out of a window which commanded an extensive view. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Heron had come downstairs. Kitty had breakfasted in her own room; Elizabeth was busy.

Mr. Vivian was wondering whether it might not be as well to go back to London. It vexed him to see little Kitty Heron flirting with half-a-dozen men at once.

A voice at the door caused him to turn round. Kitty was entering, and as her hands were full, she had some difficulty in turning the handle.

Rupert moved forward to assist her, and uttered a courteous good-morning, but Kitty only looked at him with flushed cheeks and wide-open resentful eyes, and made no answer.

She was wearing an embroidered apron over her dark morning frock, and this apron, gathered up by the corners in her hands, was full of various articles which Rupert could not see. He was thoroughly taken aback, therefore, when she poured its contents in an indiscriminate heap upon the sofa, and said, in a decided tone:--

"There are all the things you ever gave me; and I would rather not keep them any longer. I take presents only from my friends."

Foolish Kitty!

CHAPTER XLI.

KITTY'S FRIENDS.

"How have I had the misfortune to offend you?" said Rupert, in a voice from which he could not banish irony as completely as he would have liked to do.

"You said so yourself," replied Kitty, facing him with the dignity of a small princess. "You said that you were not my friend now."

"When did I make that statement?" said Rupert, lifting his eyebrows.

"Last night. And I knew it. You are not kind as you used to be. It does not matter to me at all; only I felt that I did not like to keep these things--and I brought them back."

"And what am I to do with them?" said Rupert, approaching the sofa and looking at the untidy little heap. He gave a subdued laugh, which offended Kitty dreadfully.

"I don't see anything to laugh at," she said.

"Neither do I." But the smile still trembled on his finely-cut mouth.

"What did you mean me to do with these things?" he asked. "These are trifles: why don't you throw them into the fire if you don't value them?"

"They are not all trifles; and I did value them before you came to see us this time," said Kitty, with a lugubriousness which ought to have convinced him of her sincerity. "There are some bangles, and a cup and saucer, and two books; and there is the chain that you sent me by Mr.

Luttrell in the autumn."

"Ah, that chain," said Vivian, and then he took it up and weighed it lightly in his hand. "I have never seen you wear it. I thought at first that you had got it on last night: but my eyes deceived me. My sight is not so good as it used to be. Really, Miss Heron, you make me ashamed of my trumpery gifts: pray take them away, and let me give you something prettier on your next birthday for old acquaintance sake."

"No, indeed!" said Kitty.

"And why not? Because I don't treat you precisely as I did when you were twelve? You really would not like it if I did. No, I shall be seriously offended if you do not take these things away and say no more about them. It would be perfectly impossible for me to take them back; and I think you will see--afterwards--that you should not have asked me to do so."

The accents of that calmly inflexible voice were terrible to Kitty. He turned to the window and looked out, but, becoming impatient of the silence, walked back to her again, and saw that her face had grown white, and was quivering as if she had received a blow. Her eyes were fixed upon the sofa, and her fingers held the chain which he had quietly placed within them; but it was evident that she was doing battle with herself to prevent the tears from falling. Rupert felt some remorse: and then hardened himself by a remembrance of the glances that had been exchanged between her and Hugo in that very room the night before.

"I am old enough to be your father, you know," he began, gravely. This statement was not quite true, but it was true enough for conversational purposes. "I have sent you presents on your birthday since you were a very little girl, and I hope I may always do so. There is no need for you to reject them, because I think it well to remember that you are not a child any longer, but a young lady who has 'come out,' and wears long frocks, and does her hair very elaborately," he said, casting a smiling glance at Kitty's carefully-frizzled head. "I certainly do not wish to cease to be friends with--all of you; and I hope you will not drive me away from a house where I have been accustomed to forget the cares of the world a little, and find pleasant companionship and relaxation."

"Oh, Mr. Vivian!" said Kitty, in a loud whisper. The suggestion that she had power to drive him away seemed almost impious. She felt completely crushed.

"Don't think any more about it," said Rupert, kindly, if condescendingly. "I never wished to be less of a friend to you than I was when you lived in Gower-street; but you must remember that you are a great deal altered from the little girl that I used to know."

Kitty could not speak; she stooped and began to gather the presents again into her apron. Vivian came and helped her. He could not forbear giving her hand a little kindly pat when he had finished, as if he had been dealing with a child. But the playful caress, if such it might be called, had no effect on Kitty's sore and angry feelings. She was terribly ashamed of herself now: she could hardly bear to remember his calmly superior tone, his words of advice, which seemed to place her on a so much lower footing than himself.

But in a day or two this feeling wore off. He was so kindly and friendly in manner, that she was emboldened to laugh at the recollection of the tone in which he had alluded to her elaborately-dressed hair and long dresses, and to devise a way of surprising him. She came down one day to afternoon tea in an old school-girlish dress of blue serge, rather short about the ankles, a red and white pinafore, and a crimson sash. Her hair was loose about her neck, and had been combed over her forehead in the fashion in which she wore it in her childish days. Thus attired, she looked about fourteen years old, and the shy way in which she glanced at the company from under her eyelashes, added to the impression of extreme youth. To carry out the character, she held a battledore and shuttlecock in her hand.

"Kitty, are you rehearsing for a fancy ball?" said Mrs. Heron.

"No, Isabel. I only thought I would try to transform myself into a little girl again, and see what it felt like. Do I look very young indeed?"

"You look about twelve. You absurd child!"

"Is the battledore for effect, or are you going to play a game with it?"

asked Rupert, who had been surveying her with cold criticism in his eyes.

"For effect, of course. Don't you think it is a very successful attempt?" she said, looking up at him saucily.

He made no answer. Elizabeth wanted the tea-kettle at that moment, and he moved to fetch it. Hugo Luttrell, however, who was paying a call at the house, was ready enough with a reply.

"It could not be more successful," he said, looking at her admiringly.

"I suppose"--in a lowered tone--"that you looked like this in the school-room. I am glad those days are over, at any rate."

"I am not," said Kitty, helping herself to bread and butter. "I should like them all over again--lessons and all." She stole a glance at Rupert, but his still face betrayed no consciousness of her remark. "I am going to keep up my character. I am going to play at battledore and shuttlecock with the boys in the dining-room. Who will come, too? _Qui m'aime me suit._"

"Then I will be the first to follow," said Hugo, in her ear.

She pouted and drank her tea, glancing half-reluctantly toward Rupert.

But he would not heed.

"I will come, too," said Elizabeth, relieving the awkwardness of a rather long pause. "I always like to see you play. Kitty is as light as a bird," she added to Mr. Vivian, who bowed and looked profoundly uninterested.

Nevertheless, in a few minutes he found the drawing-room so dull without the young people, that he, too, descended to see what was going on. He heard the sound of counting in breathless voices as he drew near the drawing-room. "Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, three hundred. One, two, three----"

"Kitty and Mr. Luttrell have kept up to three hundred and three, Mr.

Vivian!" cried one of the boys as he entered the room.

Mr. Vivian joined the spectators. It was a pretty sight. Kitty, with her floating locks, flushed face, trim, light figure, and unerring accuracy of eye, was well measured against Hugo's lithe grace and dexterity. The two went on until eight hundred and twenty had been reached; then the shuttlecock fell to the ground. Kitty had glanced aside and missed her aim.

"You must try, now, Mr. Vivian," she said, advancing towards him, battledore in hand, and smiling triumphantly in his face.

"No, thank you," said Rupert, who had been shading his eyes with one hand, as if the light of the lamps had tried them: "I could not see."