“Your hair is in utter disorder,” remarked her mother.

“It is no matter,” returned Katherine, following her sister-in-law out of the room.

Her dress was by no means becoming.  It was of thin black material, the remains of her last year’s mourning; the white frill at her throat was crushed by the friction of her jacket, and some splashes on the skirt gave her a travel-stained aspect.  But no disorder could hide the fine warm bronze brown of her abundant hair, nor disguise the shape of her brows and eyes, though the eyes themselves lost something of their color from the paleness of her cheeks; nor did her weariness detract from the charm of her delicate upturned chin.

“Here is my naughty sister-in-law, who has been wandering about all the morning alone, and making us quite uneasy.”

“What!  In search of further adventures—­eh?” asked Colonel Ormonde, rising and making an elaborate bow.  He spoke in a tone half paternal, half gallant, in right of which elderly gentlemen sometimes take liberties.

“I went to do a commission for my mother,” said Katherine, indifferently.

“Ah! if we had a corps of such commissionnaires as you are, we should spend our lives sending and receiving messages,” returned the Colonel, with a laugh.  He spoke in short authoritative sentences, with a loud harsh voice, and in what might be termed the “big bow-wow” style.

“You must not believe all Colonel Ormonde says,” observed the fair widow, smiling and slightly shaking her head.  “He is a very faithless man.”

“By George!  Mrs. Liddell, I don’t deserve such a character from you.  But”—­addressing Katherine, who had simply looked at him with quiet, contemplative eyes—­“I hope you have recovered from your fright of yesterday.  I never saw eyes or cheeks express terror so eloquently.”

“Yes, I was dreadfully frightened, and very, very grateful to the gentleman who saved poor Cecil.  I hope he was not hurt?”

“Shall I tell him to come and report himself in person?”

“No, thank you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to thank him again?  It might be a pleasant process to both parties—­eh?”

Katherine smiled good-humoredly, while she thought, “What an idiot!”

“Katherine is a very serious young woman,” said Mrs. Frederic—­“quite too awfully in earnest; is always striving painfully to do her duty.  She despises frivolities and never dreams of flirtation.”

“This is an appalling description,” said Ormonde.  “Pray is it on principle you renounce flirtation?”

“For a much better reason,” replied Katherine, wearily.  “Because I have no one to flirt with.”

“By Jove! there’s a state of destitution!  Why, it is a blot on society that you should be left lamenting.”

“Yes; is it not melancholy?” replied Katherine, carelessly.  “Ada, I am so tired I am sure you will excuse me if I go away to rest?”