“I got tired of it.  I do not care for living abroad; there is nothing to do but to go to picture-galleries and theatres.”

“Well, that is a good deal,” returned Katherine, smiling.  “Where do you like to live, Lady Alice?”

“Oh, in the country.  I am almost sorry Mr. Errington has a house in town.  I am so fond of a garden, and riding on quiet roads!  I am afraid to ride in London.  The country is so peaceful! no one is in a hurry.”

“What a happy, tranquil life she will lead under the aegis of such a man as Mr. Errington!” thought Katherine.

“Do you play or sing?” asked Lady Alice, for once taking the initiative.

“Yes, in a very amateur fashion.”

“Then,” with more animation, “perhaps you would play my accompaniments for me; I always like to stand when I sing.  Mrs. Ormonde says she forgets her music.  Is it not odd?”

“Well, people in India do as little as possible.  I shall be very pleased to play for you.  Shall we practice to-morrow?”

“Oh yes; immediately after breakfast.  There is really nothing to do here.”

“Immediately after breakfast I am going out with the boys—­Mrs. Ormonde’s boys.  Have you seen them?  But we shall have plenty of time before luncheon.”

“Are you fond of children?” slowly, while her busy needle paused and she undid a stitch or two.

“I am fond of these children; I do not know much about any other.”

“Beverley’s children (my eldest brother’s) are very troublesome; they annoy me very much.”  Silence while she took up her stitches again.  “The worst of this pattern is that if you talk you are sure to go wrong.”

“Then I will find a book and not disturb you,” said Katherine, good-humoredly.  She felt kindly and indulgent toward this gentle helpless creature, who seemed so many years younger than herself, though barely two, in fact.  That she was Errington’s fiancee gave her a curious interest in Katherine’s eyes.  She would willingly have done him all possible good; she was strangely attracted to the man she had cheated.  There was a simple natural dignity about him that pleased her imagination, yet she almost dreaded to speak to him, lest the very tones of her voice, the encounter of their eyes, should betray her.

At last Errington, looking at his watch, declared that as the rubber was over, he must say good-night.

“What, are you not staying here to-night?” said Colonel Ormonde.

“No; I have a good deal of letter-writing to get through to-morrow, so did not accept Mrs. Ormonde’s kind invitation.”

“You’ll have a deuced cold drive.  Come over on Thursday, will you?  Old Wray, the banker, is to dine here, and one or two Monckton worthies.  Stay till Tuesday or Wednesday.  The next meets are Friday and Monday, on this side of the county.  There will not be many more this season.”

“Thank you; I shall be very happy.”  He crossed to where Lady Alice still sat placidly at work, and made his adieux in a low tone, holding her hand for a moment longer than mere acquaintanceship warranted, and having exchanged good-nights, left the room, followed by his host.