Here his horse started, and broke the thread of his reflections.  By the time the steed had pranced and curvetted a little, Errington’s thoughts had turned into some of their usual graver channels, and Katherine Liddell was—­well, not absolutely forgotten.

The object of his reflections reached the house rather late for the boys’ tea, and expecting to find her hostess and Lady Alice enjoying the same refreshment, she gave her warm out-door jacket to Cecil, who immediately put it on as the best mode of taking it upstairs, and went into Mrs. Ormonde’s morning-room, where afternoon tea was always served.  It was a pleasant room in warm summer weather, as its aspect was east, and the afternoons were cool and shady there; but of a chill evening at the end of March it was cold and dim, and needed the glow of a good fire to make it attractive.

Daylight still lingered to the sky, but was fast fading, and the dancing light of a cheerful fire was a pleasant contrast to the gray shadows without.  The room was very nondescript; its furniture was of the spidery fashion which ruled when the “first gentleman” held the reins; thin hard sofas and scanty draperies were supplemented by Persian rugs and showy cushions, while various specimens of doubtful china crowded the mantel-piece and consoles.  Mrs. Ormonde was quite innocent of original taste, but was a quick, industrious imitator, while of comfortable chairs she was a most competent judge.

Quite sure of finding Mrs. Ormonde, Lady Alice, and Miss Brereton—­another visitor—­refreshing themselves after their out-door exercise, and intending to announce the pleasant news of Errington’s return, Katherine exclaimed, “Lady Alice!” as she crossed the threshold, then seeing no one, stopped.

“Lady Alice is not here,” said a strong, harsh voice, and a tall figure in a shooting-coat and gaiters rose from the depths of a large arm-chair, the back of which was toward the door and stood before her.

Katherine was slightly startled, but guessed it was one of two guests expected to arrive that day.  She advanced, therefore, and said, “Mrs. Ormonde is unusually late, but I am sure she will soon be here.”

“Meantime tea is quite ready.  It has stood twice the regulation five minutes; and is there any just cause or impediment why it should not be poured out?”

“Not that I am aware of,” returned Katherine, taking off her hat and smoothing back her hair, which showed golden tints in the fitful fire-light.

The low tea-table was set before the fire, she drew a chair beside it and removed the cozy from the teapot.

Recognizing De Burgh from Mrs. Ormonde’s description, she felt that he was even more at home at Castleford than herself, and she also came to the conclusion that he knew who she was.  She had been prepared by Mrs. Ormonde’s evident admiration to dislike De Burgh, having made up her mind that he would prove an empty-headed, insolent grandee, whose pretensions imposed upon her sister-in-law’s somewhat slender experience, and whose life was probably given up to physical enjoyment.  He had not, however, the aspect of a mere pleasure-seeker.  His dark, strong face and bony frame looked as if he could work as well as play.