The anxious look he gave her made her think of Father Francis' words.
"I have heard all, papa," she said, smiling, and holding up her cheek.
"I am glad you will be happy when we are gone." He drew a long breath of relief as he kissed her.
"Father Francis told you?
You like Grace ?" "I want to like every one you like, papa," she replied, evasively.
Grace came in as she spoke, and, in spite of herself, Kate's face took that cold, proud look it often wore; but she went up to her with outstretched hand.

She never shrank from disagreeable duties.
"Accept my congratulations," she said, frigidly.

"I trust you will be happy." Two deep red spots, very foreign to her usual complexion, burned in Grace's cheeks.

Her only answer was a bow, as she took her seat at the table.
It was a most comfortless repast.

There was a stiffness, a restraint over all, that would not be shaken off--with one exception.