He sank into a chair beside the lady, and said, “It is a pretty scene,” nodding his head at the numerous gay groups, the passing crowd, the lawn scattered with flower-beds, the tall trees, through which shimmered the river.
“Yes, but I’ve seen it so often,” she drawled, “its charm has faded a little.”
“Ah, well, if you had been thirty years in the colonies you would not complain of that.”
“Oh, really, I suppose not,” she answered indifferently, her attention diverted by the sight of her brother, his fiancée, Mrs. Loftus, and Lady Nesfield, who were then passing. She noticed that her companion started and stared hard; he even leant forward and gazed after the group; then, as he met her glance of interrogation, he said, “I’ve just seen a familiar face—a face from home.”
“Oh, then you are from New Zealand,” she exclaimed, “and have recognised Mrs. and Miss Loftus?”
“Ah,” he answered, “so you know them?”
“Yes; and you?”
“Very intimately once; but eighteen years ago they left our neighbourhood, and I entirely lost sight of them.”
“Who was Mr. Loftus?” she asked abruptly.
“A prosperous gentleman who owned several large ranches, and died a year ago, leaving a fortune.”