“Nonsense, dear!  This is one of your wonderful inventions.  What does he mean, Katherine?”

“He might have been.  He darted from me at Hyde Park Corner, intending to catch an omnibus, and would have been run over if a gentleman had not snatched him from under the horses’ feet.”

“My precious boy!” laying her hand on his head, but keeping him at a distance.  “How wrong of you, Katherine, to let his hand go!”

“I did not let it go; I was not holding it,” returned Katherine, dryly.

“At Hyde Park Corner?” pursued Mrs. Frederic Liddell, eagerly.  “Was the gentleman soldierly and stout, with gray mustaches?”

“No.  He was young and slight and clean-shaved.”

“That is curious; for Colonel Ormonde was saying at luncheon to-day that he had saved, or helped to save, such a pretty little boy from being run over.  I don’t exactly remember what he said.  I was listening to Mrs. De Vere Hopkins, and Mrs. Burnett’s boy was making a noise.  Colonel Ormonde said he was just like a little fellow he had seen nearly run over that morning.  I am sure Tom Burnett is not half as handsome as my Cecil.”

“I should not have been run over if auntie had left me alone.”

“Go and get mother’s tea, and you, Charlie, fetch her some nice bread and butter,” said Katherine, who, though six or seven years her sister-in-law’s junior, looked at first sight older.  “There was an elderly gentleman such as you describe, talking with the young man who rescued Cecil, and he was very polite and interested in Cecil, who broke away from me, though he had promised to stay by my side.”

“Promised,” repeated Mrs. Frederic, lightly, and carefully dusting her bonnet with her handkerchief.  “What can you expect from a child’s promise?  But poor Cecil rarely does right in your eyes.”

“Nonsense, Ada!”

“Not at all.  I am very observant.  But tell me, did Colonel Ormonde take much notice of Cecil?”

“I do not know.  I was too much frightened to see anything but the dear child himself.”

Mrs. Frederic did not reply for a moment; she seemed to be thinking deeply.  “Where did you get those flowers—­those you bought on Saturday for sixpence?”

“Oh! at the little florist’s on Queen’s Road.  It was late in the evening, you know, or they would not have been so cheap.”

“I should like some to-morrow to make the drawing-room look pretty, if possible, for Colonel Ormonde said he would call.  He wishes to see some of my Otocammed photographs.  Heigho! it is a miserable place to receive any one in.”

“Well, you see, it must do.”

“Really, Katherine, you are very unsympathetic.  If you have a fault, dear, it is selfishness.  You don’t mind my saying so?”

“Oh, not at all.  I am thankful for the ‘if.’”

“Where is your mother?”

“Lying down.  She is tired, and has a horrid headache.”