“A deuced becoming dress too; but it’s not so fine as what you had on yesterday.”

“No, of Course not; there are degrees of best dress.  Yesterday’s was my very best go-to-luncheon dress, and must last me a whole year.”

“A year!  By Jove!  And you always look well dressed!  You are a wonderful woman!  Now I must be off.  Mrs. Burnett says she will send the carriage for you on Thursday.  We drive down to Twickenham.”

“Oh, thank you, Colonel Ormonde!  I am sure I am indebted to you for that lift,” said Mrs. Frederic, while she thought, “He might have driven me down himself.”

“Au revoir, then.  Always hard to tear myself away from such a charming little witch as you are.”

Ormonde kissed her hand and departed.

“Jolly, plucky little woman,” he thought, as he walked toward the Bayswater Road, looking for a hansom.  “Just the sort to save a man trouble, and get full value out of a sovereign.”  He continued to muse on the wonderful discovery he had made of a woman perfectly planned, according to man’s ideal—­sweet, yielding, tenderly sympathetic, willing and capable to ward off all annoyances from her master, full of feeling for his troubles, and not to be moved by her own to sad looks, unbecoming tears, or downcast spirits—­all softness to him, all bristling sharpness to the rest of the world.  “Such a woman would answer my purpose as well as a woman with money, and she is an uncommonly tempting morsel.  But then those infernal boys!  I am not going to provide for another fellow’s brats, and they can’t have more than sixty pounds between them from the fund!  No; I must not make an ass of myself, even for a pretty, clever woman, who has rather a hankering for myself, or I am much mistaken.  That sister-in-law of hers is the making of an uncommon fine woman.  There’s a dash of a tragedy queen about her, but it will be good fun to play her against the widow.”

And the widow, as she rang for the house-maid to remove the tea-things, indulged in a few speculations on her side.  “He was evidently disappointed with Katherine.  I am not surprised.  She is looking ill, and she has such ungracious manners!  Of course she will come to this Richmond party when I ask her, and I must ask her.  Ormonde is a good deal smitten with me, but he’ll not lose his head.  It is an awful thing to be poor and to have two boys.  Oh, how dreadful it is to live in this horrible dull hole!  I wonder if Colonel Ormonde will ever propose for me!  He is very nice and pleasant, but he is awfully selfish.  I hate selfishness.  Perhaps if Mrs. Liddell would undertake to keep the little boys altogether it might make matters easier.  Poor children! if I were only rich I would never wish to part with them; but who can hold out against poverty?”