"Yes, in a very amateur fashion."
"Then," with more animation, "perhaps you would play my accompaniments for me; I always like to stand when I sing. Mrs. Ormonde says she forgets her music. Is it not odd?"
"Well, people in India do as little as possible. I shall be very pleased to play for you. Shall we practice to-morrow?"
"Oh yes; immediately after breakfast. There is really nothing to do here."
"Immediately after breakfast I am going out with the boys—Mrs. Ormonde's boys. Have you seen them? But we shall have plenty of time before luncheon."
"Are you fond of children?" slowly, while her busy needle paused and she undid a stitch or two.
"I am fond of these children; I do not know much about any other."
"Beverley's children (my eldest brother's) are very troublesome; they annoy me very much." Silence while she took up her stitches again. "The worst of this pattern is that if you talk you are sure to go wrong."
"Then I will find a book and not disturb you," said Katherine, good-humoredly. She felt kindly and indulgent toward this gentle helpless creature, who seemed so many years younger than herself, though barely two, in fact. That she was Errington's fiancee gave her a curious interest in Katherine's eyes. She would willingly have done him all possible good; she was strangely attracted to the man she had cheated. There was a simple natural dignity about him that pleased her imagination, yet she almost dreaded to speak to him, lest the very tones of her voice, the encounter of their eyes, should betray her.
At last Errington, looking at his watch, declared that as the rubber was over, he must say good-night.