"It is very unkind of you to say that. How sorry you must feel when I tell you that the happiest half-year I spent in India was when father was road-making, and the only other officer in camp was a fat, married major--an immense major, as big as this table." "And you were happy! How?" "In all manner of ways; riding, rambling, botanizing, sketching, and looking after father." "My niece is a Miss Crichton. She has all the accomplishments," said Mrs. Mornington. "Oh, aunt! that is a dreadful character to give me. It means that I do nothing well!" Allan had asked her for a dance, and there had been an examination of her programme, which showed only one blank. "Auntie told me to keep that waltz," she said. "I don't know why." "I do. It was kept for me. I am the favoured one." "But why?" she asked naïvely. "Why you more than any one else?" "Who can say? Will you call me vain if I tell you that I think I am a favourite with your aunt?" She looked at him laughingly, with a glance that asked a question. "You don't see any reason why I should be preferred," said Allan, interpreting her look; "but remember there never is any reason for such preferences. Clever women are full of prejudices." He could imagine a reason which he would not have had Suzette suspect for worlds. Perhaps among the available young men in Mrs. Mornington's circle he was the best placed, with an ample income in the present, and an estate that must be his in the future, the best placed of all except the young master of Discombe Manor; and the Lord of Discombe was away, while he, Allan, was on the spot. The thought of Geoffrey Wornock suggested a question. They had left the little table to Mrs. Mornington and Colonel Fordingbridge, who were able to take care of each other. Allan and Miss Vincent were going to the dancing-room, not by the nearest way, but through a French window into the garden. "Shall we take a little turn before we go back to the house?" "I should like it of all things." "And you are not afraid of catching cold?" "On such a night as this? Why, in the hills I lived out-of-doors!" "You have been at Matcham before, I suppose!" "Yes, father and I stayed here with auntie once upon a time." "Long ago?" "Ages ago, when I wore short petticoats and wasn't allowed late dinner." "Heartless tyranny!" "Wasn't it? I didn't know what to do with myself in the long summer evenings. I used to roam about this garden till I was tired, and then I would go and look in at the dining-room window where they were all sitting at dessert, and auntie would wave me away, 'Go and play, child.' Play, indeed! Even the gardeners had gone home, and the dogs were shut up for the night. I was actually glad when it was nine o'clock and bedtime." "Poor victim of middle-aged egotism." "Dear auntie! She is so good! But people don't understand children. They forget what their own feelings were when they were little."