ed them both?" cried the visitor incredulously.

"Of course. I thought you would have been sure to know," said Lady
Cinnamond sweetly. She rose as she spoke, and Mrs Jardine found it
well to take her leave. Her hostess watched her depart, with a rather
worried little smile, and then passed along the verandah to the
dressing-room where her two daughters were arranging their dresses for
the evening. Marian, the elder, had married her father's aide-de-camp
soon after the move to Ranjitgarh, and the return from the honeymoon
was the occasion for the ball to be given by the army in their honour.
Vivid scarlet geraniums were to loop up Mrs Cowper's pale amber
draperies, blush-roses to nestle in the airy folds of Honour's white
tarlatan, and the bride claimed her mother's attention at once.

"Dear Mamma, I want your opinion. You have such excellent taste.
Where ought this spray to go? Honour says _here_, and I say _here_,"
illustrating each position with the aid of a pin.

"Here," said Lady Cinnamond without hesitation, indicating a third
place, and both girls cried out in admiration. That was just right.
They knew it went awkwardly before, but they could not quite see where
it should be. Their mother threw herself into their occupation,
altering a fold here and pulling out a puff there, apparently engrossed
in what she was doing, but conscious, through all Marian's
light-hearted chatter, of the shade on Honour's brow. Her heart ached
to see it, but she would not force the girl's confidence. There was
not between her and her youngest-born the sympathy which had made those
other handsome, capable daughters, whose married homes were landmarks
of the wanderings of Sir Arthur and his wife, regard their mother
almost in the light of an elder sister--only fifteen years older,
indeed, than Charlotte, the eldest--and bring their joys and sorrows
naturally to her. Honour was disappointed in her parents, her mother
felt; it might almost be said that she disapproved of them, and though
the feeling was not new to Lady Cinnamond in her own case, since she
was obliged in every new station to live down the disadvantage of being
a foreigner, it raised in her a tumult of indignation that any one, and
most of all his own daughter, should presume to disapprove of Sir
Arthur. But Honour was very young, and even if time did not soften her
views, closer acquaintance must.

"Come to my room when you are dressed, Honour, and I will len