"May I venture to inquire for my little friend?" said the gentleman, respectfully. "I trust he was not the worse for his adventure?"
"Not at all, thanks to your promptness," said Katherine, pausing. "I have only just parted with him and his mother. She would have been very glad of an opportunity to thank you."
"So slight a service scarcely needs your thanks," he said, in a soft, agreeable voice, as he turned and walked beside her.
Katherine made no objection; she knew he was an acquaintance of Colonel Ormonde, and it was too pleasant a chance of speaking to a civilized human being to be lost. Her new acquaintance was good-looking without being handsome, with a peculiarly happy expression, and honest, kindly light-brown eyes. He was about middle height, but well set up, and carried himself like a soldier.
"Then your little charge does not live with you?" he asked.
"Not now. I am staying with my uncle. Cecil lives with his mother and mine at Bayswater."
"Indeed! I think my old friend, Colonel Ormonde, knows the young gentleman's mother."
"Then, may I introduce myself to you? My name is Payne--Gilbert Payne."
"Oh, indeed!" returned Katherine, with a vague idea that she ought not perhaps to walk with him, yet by no means inclined to dismiss a pleasant companion.
"I fancy your young nephew is a somewhat rebellious subject."
"He is sometimes very troublesome, but you cannot help liking him."
"Exactly--a fine boy. What bewildering little animals children are! They ought to teach us humility, they understand us so much better than we understand them."
"I believe they do, but I never thought of it before. Have you little brothers and sisters who have taught you this?"
"No. I am the youngest of my family; but I am interested in a refuge for street children, and I learn much there."
"That is very good of you," said Katherine, looking earnestly at him. "Where is it--near this?"
"No; a long way off. There are plenty of such places in every direction. I have just come from a home for poor old women, childless widows, sickly spinsters, who cannot work, and have no one to work for them. If you have any spare time, it would be a great kindness to go and read to them now and then. The lees of such lives are often sad and tasteless."