Ormonde, then, was meditating on his undeserved misfortunes, when the door was somewhat suddenly and vehemently pushed open, and Mrs. Ormonde came in, her eyes sparkling, and evidently in some excitement.

“What’s the matter?” asked her husband, not too amiably.  “Has that rascally, intruding fellow Liddell kicked the bucket?”

“No; but whom do you think I saw as I was leaving Mrs. Bennett’s in Hyde Park Square, you know?”

“How can I tell?  The policeman perhaps.”

“Nonsense, Duke!  I had just come down the steps, and was turn turning toward Paddington, for, as it was early, I thought I would take the omnibus to Oxford Circus (see how careful I am!), when I saw a beautiful dark brougham, drawn by splendid black horse—­the coachman, the whole turn-out, quite first rate—­come at a dashing pace towards me.  I recognized Lord de Burgh inside, and who do you think was sitting beside him?”

“God knows!  The Saratoffski perhaps.”

“Really, Ormonde, I am astonished at your mentioning that dreadful woman to me.

“Oh! are you?  Well, who was De Burgh’s companion?”

“Charlie! my Charlie! and Cis was on the front seat.  Cis saw me, for he clapped his hands and pointed as they flew past.  What do you think of that?”

“By George!” he exclaimed, in capital letters.  “I believe he is still after Katherine.  If so, she’ll have the devil’s own luck.”

“Now listen to me.  As Wilton Street was quite near, I went on there to gather what I could from Miss Payne.  She was at home, and a little less sour and silent then usual.  She was sorry, she said, the boys were out.  They have been with her for a week, and Lord de Burgh had been most kind.  He had taken them to the Zoological Gardens and Madame Tussaud’s, and just now had called for them to go to the circus.  Isn’t it wonderful?  Do try and picture De Burgh at Madame Tussaud’s.”

“There is only one way of accounting for such strange conduct,” returned the Colonel, thoughtfully.  “He means to marry your sister.  This would change the face of affairs considerably.”

“Yes; it would be delightful.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” returned Ormonde, seriously.  “Now that he is in love—­and you know he is all fire and tow—­he makes a fuss about the boys; but wait till he is married, and he will try to shift them back on you.  Why should he put up with his wife’s nephews any more than I do with my wife’s sons?”

“Because he is more in love, and a good deal richer,” returned Mrs. Ormonde.

“More in love!  Bosh!  In the middle of the fever, you mean.  Of course that will pass over.”

“Really men are great brutes,” observed Mrs. Ormonde, philosophically.

“And women awful fools,” added her husband.

“Well, perhaps so,” she returned, with a slight smile and a sharp glance.