“Before you go,” said Ormonde, eagerly, “I have a request to make.  A chum of mine, Sir James Brereton, and myself are going up the river on Thursday, with some friends of Mrs. Liddell’s—­a picnic affair.  Your sister-in-law has promised to honor me with her company, and I earnestly hope you will accompany her.  I promise you shall be induced to rescind your anti-flirtation resolutions.”

“Up the river?” repeated Katherine, with a wistful look, and paused.  “On Thursday next?  Thank you very much, but I’m engaged—­quite particularly engaged.”

“Nonsense, Katie!” cried her sister-in-law.  “Where in the world are you going?  You know you never have an engagement anywhere.”

“Come, Miss Liddell, do not be cruel.  We will have a very jolly day, and I’ll try and persuade your hero of yesterday to meet you.”

“I should like to go very much, but I really cannot.  I thank you for thinking of me.”  She stood up, and, with a slight bow, said, “Good-morning,” leaving the room before the stout Colonel could reach the door to open it.

“Phew! that was sharp, short, and decisive,” said Ormonde.

“Yes, wasn’t it?  She is quite a character.  Leave her to me if you wish her to go.  I will manage it.”

“Yes, do.  She is something fresh, though she is not so handsome as I thought.  I suspect there is a strong dash of the devil in her.”

“I cannot say I have seen much of it,” said the young widow, frankly.  She was extremely shrewd in a small way, and had adopted an air of candid good-nature as best suited to her style and complexion.  “Handsome or not, if you would like to have her at your party, I will try to persuade her to come.”

“Thanks.  What a little brick you are!” said Ormonde, admiringly.  “No nonsense with you, or trying to keep a pretty girl out of it.  I say, Mrs. Liddell, it must be an awful life for you, shut up in this stuffy suburban box?”

“Well, it is not cheerful; but I have no choice, so I just make the best of it,” she returned, with as bright a smile as she could muster.  “No use spoiling one’s eyes or one’s temper over the inevitable.  Then I am really fond of my mother-in-law, poor soul!  She would spoil me if she had the means; and Katherine—­well, she isn’t bad.”

“By George! if you make your mother-in-law fond of you, you must be an angel incarnate.”

“An angel!” echoed the little lady.  “That would never do.  No, no; it is because I am so desperately human I get on with them all.”

“Delightfully human, you mean.  No house could be dull with you in it.  There’s nothing like pluck and good-humor in a woman.”

“Well, Heaven knows I want both!”

“I am afraid I must be off,” said the Colonel.  “I am going to dine with Eversley, and he has a villa at Rochampton—­quite a journey, you know.  Where is the little chap that was nearly run over?”

“Playing in the garden, very happy and very dirty.  I dare not have him in—­he always climbs up and hangs about me, for I have my best dress on!”—­the last words in large capitals.