Alone, without confidant to counsel her, with no woman friend to aid her, the Lady Catharine Knollys backed her own hopes and wishes with resource and energy.

There came a time, perilously late, when a faint rose showed once more in her cheek, long so worn, a faintly brighter light glowed in her deep eye.
When Sir Arthur Pembroke received a message from the Lady Catharine Knollys advising him that the latter would receive him at her home, it was left for the impulses, the hopes, the imaginings of that modest young nobleman to establish a reason for the message.

Puzzling all along his rapid way in answer to the summons, Sir Arthur found the answer which best suited his hopes in the faint flush, the brightened eye of the young woman who received him.
"Lady Catharine," he began, impetuously, "I have come, and let me hope that 'tis at last to have my answer.

I have waited--each moment has been a year that I have spent away from you." "Now, that is very pretty said." "But I am serious." "And that is why I do not like you." "But, Lady Catharine!" "I should like it better did you but continue as in the past.

We have met on the Row, at the routs and drums, in the country; and always I have felt free to ask any favor of Sir Arthur Pembroke.