Katherine did not hear the name, and had not an idea who the old friend was. She turned round with a faint smile on her face. Well! There was nothing wonderful in the fact that he had come home with them. He had, it turned out afterwards, taken his passage in the _Aurungzebe_ without knowing that the Somers were going by it, or anything about them. It would be vain to deny that Katherine was startled, but she did not cling to anything for support, nor--except by a sudden change of colour, for which she was extremely angry with herself--betray any emotion. Her heart gave a jump, but then it became quite quiet again. “We seem fated to meet in travelling,” she said, “and nowhere else.” Afterwards she was very angry with herself for these last words. She did not know why she said them--to round off her sentence perhaps, as a writer often puts in words which he does not precisely mean. They seemed to convey a complaint or a reproach which she did not intend at all. “I have been hoping,” he said, “since ever I knew your sister was on board that perhaps you might come, but----” He looked at Katherine in her mourning, and then over the crowd to Stella, talking, laughing, full of spirit and movement. “I was going to say that I--feared some sorrow had come your way, but when I look at Lady Somers----” “It is that she does not realise it,” said Katherine. “It is true--my father is dead.” He stood looking at her again, his countenance changing from red to brown (which was now its natural colour). He seemed to have a hundred things to say, but nothing would come to his lips. At last he stammered forth, with a little difficulty it appeared, “I am--sorry--that anything could happen to bring sorrow to you.” Katherine only answered him with a little bow. He was not sorry, nor was Stella sorry, nor anyone else involved. She felt with a keen compunction that to make up for this universal satisfaction over her father’s death she ought to be sorry--more sorry than words could say.