“He’ll overtake his brother, though, before long,” said Colonel Ormonde, encouragingly, as he rang and ordered the card-table to be set.

“You play whist, I suppose?  We want a fourth.”

“I am quite ignorant of that fascinating game,” returned Katherine, “and very sorry to be so useless.”

“It is lamentable ignorance!  Lady Alice, will you take compassion on us?  No?—­then we must have Errington.”

Errington did not seem at all reluctant, and the two young ladies were left to entertain each other.

Katherine, who had gone to the other end of the room to look at some water-color drawings, came back and sat down beside her.  Lady Alice looked amiable, but did not speak, and Katherine felt greatly at a loss what to say.

“What very fine work!” she said at length, watching the small, weak-looking hands so steadily employed.

“Yes, it is a very difficult pattern.  My aunt, Lady Mary, never could manage it, and she does a great deal of crochet, and is very clever.”

“It seems most complicated.  I am sure I could never do it.”

“Do you crochet much?”

“Not at all.”

“Then,” with some appearance of interest, “what do you do?”

“Oh! various things; but I am afraid I am not industrious.  I would rather mend my clothes than do fancy work.”

“Mend your clothes!” repeated Lady Alice, in unfeigned amazement.

“Yes.  I assure you there is great pleasure in a symmetrical patch.”

“But does not your maid do that?”

“Now that I have one, she does.  However, you must show me how to crochet, if you will be so kind; my only approach to fancy-work is knitting.  I can knit stockings.  Isn’t that an achievement?”

“But is it not tiresome?”

“Oh!  I can knit like the Germans, and talk or read.”

“Is it possible?” A long pause.

“Mrs. Ormonde says you are very learned and studious,” said Lady Alice, languidly.

“How cruel of her to malign me!” returned Katherine, laughing.  “Learned I certainly am not; but I am fond of indiscriminate reading, though not studious.”

“I like a nice novel, with dreadful people in it, like Miss St. Maur’s.  Have you read any of hers?”

“I don’t think so.  I do not know the name.”

“The St. Maurs are Devonshire people—­a very old country family, I believe.  Still, when she writes about the season in London, I don’t think it is very like.”  Another pause.

“You have been in Italy, I think, Lady Alice?” recommenced Katherine.

“Oh yes, often.  Papa is always cruising about, you know, and we stop at places.  But I have never been in Rome.”

“Yachting must be delightful.”

“I do not like it; I am always ill.  Aunt Mary took me to Florence for a winter.”

“Then you enjoyed that, I dare say,” said Katherine.