"Mrs. O'Toole of course goes with you?"
"Of course. Dear nurse, she is so true and self-forgetful!"
"And Cormac, what will you do with him? You can hardly take that huge animal with you."
"Not just yet; he remains with the Winters; but will follow us when we can arrange to have him. Mr. Winter said no one would take us in, at first, with so formidable a looking companion."
"I should fear not, but—"
The entrance of the Colonel here cut short their private conference; he, like his granddaughter, expressed surprise and pleasure, not unmingled with uneasiness, at the organist's appearance, and, after some discussion, he agreed to dine with them, at a somewhat earlier hour than usual; as the softness of a June evening could not possibly, they all agreed, be more injurious than the morning air.
"And let us send for Winter and his wife," concluded the Colonel.
Once more the little circle met round the hospitable board in the Priory dining-room, and though the absence of many familiar ornaments, already packed, gave a look of barrenness to the pretty sitting room, and bespoke the approaching departure, the party was not a sad one; each tried to cheer the others, and in so doing roused himself.
So ended the last dinner at the Priory, and never again did the same party meet under the same roof.
Some such presentiment touched Kate's heart, and gave a tenderness to her attentions, an under current of feeling even to the fanciful sallies and playful arguments with which she strove to enliven her guests, which, gracefully as she ever played the part of hostess, lent an inexpressible charm to all she uttered; and even Mrs. Winter, usually unobservant, seemed impressed by the peculiar sweetness of her voice and manner; and often, in after life, did Kate look back to that last evening as singularly agreeable, despite the approaching separation.