“I must go and have a look at that new bay,” he murmured. “You--you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Clarendon? Ah, here’s Rose! Don’t you notice how very warm it is, my dear?” “Rose,” said Mrs. Clarendon, when the colonel had made his escape at quick time, “come here and answer me a rude question. Don’t be shocked; it’s something I do so want to know. How did the colonel”--she lowered her voice, her eyes were gleaming with fun--“how did the colonel propose to you?” “My dear,” was the reply, given in a humorous whisper, “I did it myself.” On another occasion, Colonel Stratton came into the room when Isabel was reading. She just noticed his presence, but did not seem inclined to talk, had, in fact, a shadow on her brow. The colonel observed this, by side glances. He moved about a little, and somehow managed to get behind her chair. Then, tapping her on the shoulder--it was his habit with male acquaintances, and he was probably unconscious of the act--he said, in a low voice but with much energy: “It’s a damned shame! A damned shame!” He had disappeared when Isabel turned to look at him. She was not quite well that day, or something troubled her. After lunch she went to her own room, and, when she had sat for some time unoccupied, took from her writing-case a letter which she had written the day before. It was to Ada. As she glanced over it, some painful emotion possessed her. “I can’t send it! I am ashamed!” Her lips uttered the words which she had spoken only to herself. She crumpled the sheet, and threw it into the fire. She dined alone, and, a little later, Mrs. Stratton came to sit with her. After various talk, Mrs. Stratton said: “A couple of friends are coming from town to-morrow--one of them a friend of yours.” “Who?” “Rather more than a friend; a relative, I suppose.” “Robert Asquith?” said Isabel, surprised. “Yes; I invited him some time ago, at Knightswell.” “Why, I had a letter from him just before I left, and he didn’t say anything about it. How came you to make such friends with him?” “Oh, he took my fancy! And I thought it might be pleasant for you to meet here.” “Certainly; I am delighted.” “I’m so glad you like him,” she added, after a pause. “I had no idea you got on such good terms when he came down.” “Why do you never speak of him?” Mrs. Stratton asked, smiling slightly. “Don’t I? I really can’t say. I suppose I take Robert for granted. I dare say he speaks as little of me as I of him.” “Perhaps so,” said the other, in an unusually absent way. Then she asked: “He has never been married?” “Oh no! Robert is a confirmed old bachelor.” “Rather strange that, don’t you think? He is in easy circumstances, I think you told me?” “Decidedly easy.” “And good-looking.” “You think so? Yes, I suppose he is,” mused Isabel. “Suppose? You know very well he is, my dear. And what is he doing, pray?” “I really can’t say. He has rooms, and lives, I suppose, a very idle life. I shouldn’t wonder if he goes back to the East some day.”