Colonel Ormonde was a keen sportsman, and when he had reached his present grade had gladly taken up his abode in the old place, which had been let at a high rent during his term of military service.  Castleford was an old place, though the house was comparatively new.  It had been bought by Ormonde’s grandfather, a rich manufacturer, who had built the house and made many improvements, and his representative of the third generation was considered quite one of the country gentry.

Colonel Ormonde was fairly popular.  He was not obtrusively hard about money matters, but he never neglected his own interests.  Then he appreciated a good glass of wine, and above all he rode straight.  Mrs. Ormonde was adored by the men and liked by the women of Clayshire society, Colonel Ormonde being considered a lucky man to have picked up a charming woman whose children were provided for.

That fortunate individual was sitting at breakfast tete-a-tete with his wife one dull foggy morning about a month after Katherine Liddell had returned to England.  “Another cup, please,” he said, handing his in.  Mrs. Ormonde was deep in her letters.  “What an infernal nuisance it is!” he continued, looking out of the window nearest him.  “The off days are always soft and the ‘meet’ days hard and frosty.  The scent would be breast-high to-day.”  Mrs. Ormonde made no reply.  “Your correspondence seems uncommonly interesting!” he exclaimed, surprised at her silence.

“It is indeed,” she cried, looking up with a joyful and exultant expression of countenance.  “Katherine writes that she has signed a deed settling twenty thousand on Cis and Charlie, the income of which is to be paid to me until they attain the age of twenty-one, for their maintenance, education, and so forth; after which any sum necessary for their establishment in life can be raised or taken from their capital, the whole coming into their own hands at the age of twenty-five.  Dear me!  I hope they will make me a handsome allowance when they are twenty-five.  I really think Katherine might have remembered me.”  She handed the letter to her husband.

“Well, little woman, you have your innings now, and you must save a pot of money,” he returned, in high glee.  “What a trump that girl is! and, by Jove! what lucky little beggars your boys are!  I can tell you I was desperately uneasy for fear she might marry some fellow before she fulfilled her promise to you.  Then you might have whistled for any provision for your boys; no man would agree to give up such a slice of his wife’s fortune as this.  I know I would not.  Women never have any real sense of the value of money; they are either stingy or extravagant.  I am deuced glad I haven’t to pay all your milliner’s bills, my dear.  I am exceedingly glad Katherine has been so generous, but I’ll be hanged if it is the act of a sensible woman.”

“Never mind; there is quite a load off my heart.  I think I’ll have a new habit from Woolmerhausen now.”