John Beacham, who had a moment before been intensely amused by watching an animated game at “Aunt Sally,” turned in the direction indicated, but at first without being able to discover the object of his wife’s curiosity. The hand that rested on his arm positively trembled with impatience. Honor could not account for the strange interest which she seemed to take in that middle-aged, distinguished-looking man. To her, Colonel Norcott, erect and soldier-like, with his grand military bearing, and his five-and-forty years so bravely carried, seemed almost an old man, or rather an old prince. Somebody very remarkable he was--of that Honor had no doubt; and the fact of his having noticed _her_ did not tend to lessen the interest that he had excited. “O John, can’t you see him?” she said eagerly. “There, he is out of sight now! Why _wouldn’t_ you look before? I _know_ he is somebody great--a foreign prince, or something of that kind.” John laughed gaily. “Why, child,” he said, “what do _you_ know about foreign princes? Do you suppose there’s anything in the cut of their jib different from other people’s? Why, if you want to see an article of that sort, I’ll bring you a mustachioed fellow up to lunch one of these days. There’s plenty of all sorts come, one way or the other, to the Paddocks. They speak pretty good English, do most of the mounseers, or there ain’t many words would pass between me and them. But about this gent, Honey, that you’re so anxious to know the name of. Is that him, coming back again, and looking this way?” By this time the tall figure of Colonel Norcott was again in sight, swinging his cane, and sauntering slowly towards the spot where John Beacham, with those two very different specimens of womankind--one leaning upon either arm--was standing. It must have been evident to any looker-on whose attention was not otherwise engrossed that the Colonel manifested a decided inclination to haunt the spot where that beautiful face and _élancée_ girlish figure were to be seen and admired. Honor, perceiving his return, _felt_ that so it was; and the shy blush rose again to her cheek as she answered John’s question in the affirmative. Rather to her surprise, the latter turned away abruptly, thus avoiding the meeting with the gallant Fred which must otherwise have taken place. “O,” he began, and Honor knew by his heightened colour that her husband’s naturally quick temper had received a touch of the spur, “so that’s the party, is it? Well, Honey, I won’t promise to bring _him_ up to the house--that is, at least, unless I’m obliged to, which I don’t think likely. Why, my dear, that’s Colonel Norcott, a man who--but never mind; _you’ve_ nothing to do with what he is, nor I neither, excepting that he bought Rough Diamond of Arthur Vavasour, and--well, I never thought to care so little whether a colt of my breeding proved a winning horse or not.”