As the days went on, and no word or sign came from Tom, a great fear and perplexity arose within the girl’s mind.  She had heard nothing of the interview at Fenchurch Street, nor had she any clue at all which could explain the mystery.  Could it be that Tom had informed her guardian of their engagement, and had received such a rebuff that he had abandoned her in despair?  That was surely impossible; yet why was it that he had ceased to walk through the square?  She knew that he was not ill, because she heard her two companions talking of him in connection with business.  What could be the matter, then?  Her little heart was torn by a thousand conflicting doubts and fears.

In the mean time Ezra gave fresh manifestations of the improvement which travel had wrought upon him.  She had remarked one day that she was fond of moss roses.  On coming down to breakfast next morning she found a beautiful moss rose upon her plate, and every morning afterwards a fresh flower appeared in the same place.  This pretty little piece of courtesy, which she knew could only come from Ezra, surprised and pleased her, for delicacy was the last quality for which she would have given him credit.

On another occasion she had expressed a desire to read Thackeray’s works, the books in the library being for the most part of last century.  On entering her room that same evening she found, to her astonishment, a handsomely bound edition of the novels in question standing on the centre of her table.  For a moment a wild, unreasoning hope awoke in her that perhaps this was Tom’s doing—­that he had taken this means of showing that she was still dear to him.  She soon saw, however, that the books could only have come from the same source as the flowers, and she marvelled more than ever at this fresh proof of the good will of her companion.

One day her guardian took the girl aside.  “Your life must be rather dull,” he said.  “I have taken a box for you to-night at the opera.  I do not care about such spectacles myself, but I have made arrangements for your escort.  A change will do you good.”

Poor Kate was too sad at heart to be inclined for amusement.  She endeavoured, however, to look pleased and grateful.

“My good friend, Mrs. Wilkinson, is coming for you,” the merchant said, “and Ezra is going too.  He has a great liking for music.”

Kate could not help smiling at this last remark, as she thought how very successfully the young man had concealed his taste during the years that she had known him.

She was ready, however, at the appointed hour, and Mrs. Wilkinson, a prim old gentlewoman, who had chaperoned Kate on the rare occasions when she went out, having arrived, the three drove off together.

The opera happened to be “Faust,” and the magnificent scenery and dresses astonished Kate, who had hardly ever before been within the walls of a theatre.  She sat as if entranced, with a bright tinge of colour upon her cheeks, which, with her sparkling eyes, made her look surpassingly beautiful.  So thought Ezra Girdlestone as he sat in the recesses of the box and watched the varied expressions which flitted across her mobile features.  “She is well worth having, money or no,” he muttered to himself, and redoubled his attentions to her during the evening.