"I remember now," said Errington, looking at her, "where I saw I saw you before. Is was two—nearly three—years ago, at Hyde Park corner, when that elder boy had a narrow escape from being run over."
"Were you there?" she exclaimed, so evidently surprised that Errington saw the impulse was genuine. "I recollect Mr. Payne and Colonel Ormonde; but I did not see you."
"Then where have you met me?" was at his lips, but he did not utter the words.
"Well, Payne was of real service; I did nothing. The little fellow had a close shave."
"He had indeed," said Katherine, thoughtfully, with downcast eyes; then, suddenly raising them to his, she said, as if to herself, "And you were there too! How strange it all is!"
"I see nothing so strange in it, Miss Liddell," smiling good-humoredly. "Have you any superstition on the subject?"
"No; I am not superstitious; yet it was curious—I mean, to meet by accident on that day just before—" She stopped. "And now I am connected with Colonel Ormonde, living with Mr. Payne's sister and—and talking here with—you."
"These coincidences occur perpetually when people move in the same set," returned Errington, feeling absurdly curious, and yet not knowing how to get at the train of recollection or association which underlay her words—words evidently unstudied and impulsive.
"I suppose so. And, you know—Mr. Payne," Katherine continued, quickly—"how good he is! He lives completely for others."
"Yes, I believe him to be thoroughly, honestly good. How hard he toils, and with what a pitiful result!"