And then, before Marian could wipe away the tears that rose quickly to her eyes, fat little Lady Modyford had gone off into reminiscences of Singapore and Bombay, and that dear Mrs Ord, and the baby that died—‘Your sister, you know, my dear—the one that was born at Calcutta, and died soon after your dear mamma reached England.—No, of course, my dear; your mamma couldn’t know that I was here, because, you see, when she and I came home together—why, that was twenty-two years ago—no, twenty-four, I declare, because Sir Adalbert—he was plain Mr Modyford then, on three hundred a year, in the Straits Settlements colonial service—didn’t propose to me till the next summer, when he came home on leave, you know, just before he was removed to Hong-kong by that horrid Lord Modbury, who was Colonial Secretary in those days, and afterwards died of suppressed gout, the doctors said, at his own villa at that delightful Spezzia. So you see I was Kitty Fitzroy at that time, my child; and I daresay your mamma, who’s older than me a good bit, of course, never heard about my marrying Sir Adalbert, for we were married very quietly down in Devonshire, where Sir Adalbert’s father was a rector in a very small parish, on a tiny income; and we started at once for Hong-kong, and spent our honeymoon at Venice—a nasty, damp, uncomfortable place for a wedding tour, I call it, but not nearly so bad as you coming out here straight from the church door almost, Miss Dupuy told me; and Trinidad too, well known to be an unsociable, dead-alive sort of an island. But whenever you like, dear, you must just jump on your horse—you’ve got horses, of course?—yes, I thought so—and ride over to Government House, and have a good chat with me and Emily; for, indeed, Mrs Hawthorn—what’s your Christian name?—Marian—ah, very pretty—we should like to see you as often as you choose; and next week, after you’ve settled down a little, you must really come up and stop some time with us; for I assure you I have quite taken a fancy to you, my dear; and Sir Adalbert, when he saw Mr Hawthorn the other day, at the Island Secretary’s office, came home quite delighted, and said to me: “Kitty, the young man they’ve sent out for the new District judge is the very man to keep that something old fool Dupuy in order in future.”’