“Well,” he said, in his most insinuating tones, “I thought you might have granted so much to an old friend and faithful admirer like myself.  There is no great harm in my little plan.”

“Certainly not, but you see I must hold on to my mother-in-law:  she is my only real stay.  While pleasant and friendly as you are, my dear Colonel”—­with a pretty little toss of her head—­“you will go off shooting, or hunting, or Heaven knows what, and it is quite possible I may never see your face again.”

“Oh, by George! you will not get rid of me so easily,” cried Ormonde, a good deal taken back.

“I shall be very glad to see you if you do turn up again,” said Mrs. Liddell, graciously.  “So as this will probably be the last time I shall see you for some months, pray tell me some amusing gossip.”

But gossip did not seem to come readily to Colonel Ormonde; nevertheless they made a tour of the gardens in desultory conversation, till Mrs. Liddell stopped decidedly, and bade him adieu.

“At last,” said the cautious ex-dragoon, “you will write and tell me how you get on with this amiable old relative of yours.”

“I shall be very pleased to report progress, if you care to write and ask me, and tell me your whereabouts.”

“Then I suppose it is to be good-by?” said Ormonde, almost sentimentally.  “You are treating me devilishly ill.”

“I do not see that.”  Here the boys came running up, at a signal from their mother.

“Well, my fine fellow,” said Ormonde, laying his hand on Cecil’s shoulder, “so you went to see your old uncle.  Did he try to eat you?”

“No; but he is a nasty cross old man.  He wouldn’t speak a word to mammy, but took his stick and hobbled away.”

“Yes, he is a wicked man, and I am afraid he will hurt auntie,” put in Charlie.

Colonel Ormonde laughed rather more than the mother liked.  “I think you may trust ‘auntie’ to take care of herself.—­So you forced the old boy to retreat?  What awful stories your sister-in-law must have told of you!” to Mrs. Liddell.

She was greatly annoyed, but, urged by all-powerful self-interest, she maintained a smooth face, and answered, “Oh yes, when Katherine kept worrying about our disturbing her uncle, the poor old man got up and left the room.”

“Well, you must turn her flank, and be sure to let me know how matters progress.  I suppose you will be here all the autumn?”

“I should think so; small chance of my going out of town,” she returned, bitterly, and the words had scarce left her lips before she felt she had made a mistake.  Men hate to be bothered with the discomforts of others.

The result was that Colonel Ormonde cut short his adieux, and parted from her with less regret than he felt five minutes before.

The young widow walked smartly back, holding her eldest boy’s hand, and administered a sharp rebuke to him for talking too much.  To which Cecil replied that he had only answered when he was spoken to.  This elicited a scolding for his impertinence, and produced further tart answers from the fluent young gentleman, which ended by his being dismissed in a fury to Jane, vice Charles, promoted to walk beside mamma.