ines of the elm avenue, to the faint blue of
the chalk downs rising against the southern sky.

John Knott had driven over, for the second time that day, in the windy
March sunset. He fell in very readily with Mrs. Ormiston's suggestion
that he should remain to dinner. That young lady's spirits were
sensibly on the rise. It is true that she had wept copiously at
intervals while her sister-in-law's life appeared to be in
danger--keeping at the same time as far from the sick room as the ample
limits of Brockhurst House allowed, and wishing herself a thousand and
one times safe back in Paris, where her devoted and obedient husband
occupied a subordinate post at the English Embassy. But Mrs. Ormiston's
tears were as easily staunched as set flowing. And now, in her capacity
of hostess, with three gentlemen--or rather "two and a half, for you
can't," as she remarked, "count a brother-in-law for a whole one"--as
audience, she felt remarkably cheerful. She had been over to Newlands
during the afternoon, and insisted on Mary Cathcart returning with
her--Mrs. Ormiston was a Desmolyns. The Cathcarts are distantly
connected with that family. And, when the girl had protested that this
was hardly a suitable moment for a visit to Brockhurst, Charlotte
Ormiston had replied, with that hint of a brogue which gave her ready
speech its almost rollicking character:--

"But, my dear child, propriety demands it. I depart myself to-morrow.
And now that we're recovering our tone I daren't be left with such a
houseful of men on my hands any longer. While we were tearing our hair
over poor Kitty's possible demise, and agonising as to the uncertain
sex of the baby, it did not matter. But now even that dear creature,
Saint Julius, is beginning to pick up, and looks less as if his diet
was mouldy peas and his favourite plaything a cat-o'-nine-tails.
Scourge?--Yes, of course, but it's all the same in the application of
the instrument, you know. And then in your secret soul, Mary dear," she
added, not unkindly, "there's no denying it's far from obnoxious to you
to spend a trifle of time in the society of Roger."

Mrs. Ormiston carried her point. It may be stated, in passing, that
this sprightly, young matron was brilliantly pretty, though her facial
angle might be deemed too acute, leaving somewhat to be desired in the
matter of forehead and of chin. She was plump, graceful, and neat
waisted. Her skin was exquisitely white and fine, and a charming co