“Indeed it is not, Colonel Ormonde!” cried Katherine.  “If every one was as good as Mr. Payne, the world would be a different and a better place.”

“Hey!  Have you constituted yourself his champion?  Lucky dog!  Come, my dear girl, we must be going.  Are you well wrapped up?  It is deuced cold, and we have nearly three miles to drive from the station.”

He himself looked liked a mountain in a huge fur-lined coat.

“Good-by, then, dear Miss Payne.  I suppose I shall not see you again for a fortnight or three weeks.”

“By George! we sha’n’t let you off with so short a visit as that!  Say three years.  Come, march; we haven’t too much time.”  Throwing a brief “good-morning” at the “old maid” of uncertain position, the Colonel walked heavily downstairs in the wake of his admired young guest.

Monckton was scarcely four hours from London, but when the drive to Castleford was accomplished there was not too much time left to dress for dinner.

Mrs. Ormonde was awaiting Katherine in the hall, which was bright with lamps and fire-light; behind her were her two boys.

When Katherine had been duly welcomed.  Mrs. Ormonde stood aside, and the children hesitated a moment.  Cecil was so much grown, Katherine hardly knew him.  He came forward with his natural assurance, and said, confidently:  “How d’ye do, auntie?  You have been a long time coming.”

Charlie was more like what he had been, and less grown.  He hesitated a moment, then darted to Katherine, and throwing his arms round her neck, clung to her lovingly.  She was infinitely touched and delighted.  How vividly the past came back to her!—­the little dusty house at Bayswater, the homely establishment kept afloat by her dear mother’s industry, the small study, and the dear weary face associated with it.  How ardently she held the child to her heart!  How thankfully she recognized that here was something to cherish and to live for!

“They may come with me to my room?” she said to her hostess.

“Oh, certainly!—­only if you begin that sort of thing you will never be able to get rid of them.”

“I will risk it,” said Katherine, as she followed Mrs. Ormonde upstairs to a very comfortable room, where a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth.

“I am afraid you find it rather small, but I was obliged to give the best bedroom to Lady Alice—­noblesse oblige, you know.  I am sure you will like her, she is so gentle; I think her father was very glad to let her come, as she can see more of her fiance.  They are not to be married till the autumn, so—­Oh dear! there is the second bell.  Cis, run away and tell Madeline to come and help your auntie to dress; and you too, Charlie; you had better go too.”

“He may stay and help me to unpack.”

“Why did you not bring your maid, dear?  It is just like you to leave her behind; but we could have put her up; and you will miss her dreadfully.”