days ago,
that she forgave him even his preciousness of speech, even his slightly
irritating superiority of manner. She had ceased to be on her guard
with him during these days of travel, had come to take his presence for
granted and to treat him with the comfortable indifference of honest
good-fellowship. So, it followed that now, speaking with him, she
continued to follow out her existing train of thought.

"I'm by no means off my head about poor Dickie Calmady," she said
presently,--"specially where Cousin Katherine is concerned. I couldn't
go on caring about anybody, irrespective of their conduct, just because
they were they. And yet I can't help seeing it must be tremendously
satisfying to feel like that."

"A thousand pardons," Ludovic murmured, "but like what?"

"Why as Cousin Katherine feels--just whole-heartedly, without analysis,
and without alloy--to feel that no distance, no fatigue, no nothing in
short, matters, so long as she gets to him in time. I don't approve of
such a state of mind, and yet"--Honoria wheeled round, facing the glory
of colour dyeing all the west--"and yet, I'm untrue enough to my own
principles rather to envy it."

She sighed, and that sigh her companion noted and filed for reference.
Indeed, an unusually expansive cheerfulness became, perceptible in Mr.
Quayle.

"By the bye, is there any further news?" she inquired.

"General Ormiston has just had a telegram."

"Anything fresh?"

"Still unconscious, strength fairly maintained."

"Oh! we know that by heart!" Honoria said.

"We do. And we know the consequences of it--the sweet little see-saw of
hope and fear, productive of unlimited discussion and anxiety. No weak
letting one stand at ease about that telegram! It keeps one's nose hard
down on the grindstone."

"If he dies," Honoria said slowly, "if he dies--poor, dear Cousin
Katherine!--When can we hear again?"

"At Turin," Mr. Quayle replied.

Then they both fell silent until the far end of the platform was
reached. And there, once more, Honoria paused, her small head carried
high, her serious eyes fixed upon the sunset. The rosy light falling
upon her failed to disguise the paleness of her face or its slight
angularity of line. She was a little worn and travel-stained, a little
disheveled even. Yet to her companion she had rarely appeared more
charming. She might be tired, she might even be somewhat untidy, but
her innate distinction remained--nay, gained, so he judged