“I remember now,” said Errington, looking at her, “where I saw I saw you before.  Is was two—­nearly three—­years ago, at Hyde Park corner, when that elder boy had a narrow escape from being run over.”

“Were you there?” she exclaimed, so evidently surprised that Errington saw the impulse was genuine.  “I recollect Mr. Payne and Colonel Ormonde; but I did not see you.”

“Then where have you met me?” was at his lips, but he did not utter the words.

“Well, Payne was of real service; I did nothing.  The little fellow had a close shave.”

“He had indeed,” said Katherine, thoughtfully, with downcast eyes; then, suddenly raising them to his, she said, as if to herself, “And you were there too!  How strange it all is!”

“I see nothing so strange in it, Miss Liddell,” smiling good-humoredly.  “Have you any superstition on the subject?”

“No; I am not superstitious; yet it was curious—­I mean, to meet by accident on that day just before—­” She stopped.  “And now I am connected with Colonel Ormonde, living with Mr. Payne’s sister and—­and talking here with—­you.”

“These coincidences occur perpetually when people move in the same set,” returned Errington, feeling absurdly curious, and yet not knowing how to get at the train of recollection or association which underlay her words—­words evidently unstudied and impulsive.

“I suppose so.  And, you know—­Mr. Payne,” Katherine continued, quickly—­“how good he is!  He lives completely for others.”

“Yes, I believe him to be thoroughly, honestly good.  How hard he toils, and with what a pitiful result!”

“I wish he would go.  Why does he stand there making conversation?” thought Katherine, while she said aloud:  “I don’t see that.  If every one helped two or three poor creatures whom they knew, we should not have all this poverty and suffering which are distracting to think about.”

“I doubt it; it would be more likely to pauperize the whole nation.”

Here Charlie and Cis, with earth-stained knees and hands—­the latter full of violets—­reluctantly descended.  Adding these to the basket already overflowing, they had a short wrangle as to who should carry it, and then Katherine turned her steps homeward.  Errington passed the bridle over his arm, and to her great annoyance, walked beside her.

“Are you, then, disposed to give yourself to faith and to good works?”

“I do not know.  I should like to help those who want, but I fear I am too fond of pleasure to sacrifice myself—­at least I was and I suppose the love will return.  Of course it is easy to give money; it is hard to give one’s self.”

“You seem very philosophic for so young a lady.”

“I am not young,” said Katherine, sadly; “I am years older than Lady Alice.”

“How many—­one or two?” asked Errington, in his kind, fatherly, somewhat superior tone, which rather irritated her.