“Probably,” assented Allison, with a faraway look in his eyes.  “If you want to borrow our horses at any time, Aunt Francesca, when yours are not available, I hope you’ll feel free to telephone for them.  They’re almost eating their heads off and the exercise would do them good.”

“Thank you,” she answered, shortly.  Allison noted the veiled sharpness of her tone and wondered why anyone should take even slight offence at the friendly offer of a coach and pair.

“It must be nearly time for the next train,” he resumed.  “Is there anyone at the station to meet Isabel?”

“Nobody but the coachman and the carriage,” returned Madame, dryly.  “I’m not in the habit of being asked whether or not I have made proper provision for my guests.”

“I beg your pardon, Aunt Francesca.  I would have known, of course, if I had stopped to think.”

“How is your father?” she put in, abruptly.

“All right, I guess.  He’s making a garden and the whole front yard is torn up as though sewer pipes were about to be put in.”

Madame’s heart softened with pity, for she knew that only loneliness would have set the Colonel to gardening.  “I must go over and see it,” she said, in a different tone.  “My valuable advice hasn’t been asked, but I think I could help a little.”

“Undoubtedly.  Your own garden is one of the loveliest I have ever seen.  Isn’t that the train?”

“I think so.  If Isabel comes, I believe I’ll leave you to entertain her while I drive over to inspect the new garden.”

She was oppressed, as never before, by the necessity of speech, and, of all those around her, Colonel Kent was the only one to whom it would be possible for her to say a word.  She did not stop to consider what she could accomplish by it, for in her heart, she knew that she was helpless—­also that a great deal of the trouble in the world has not been caused by silence.

Allison drummed on the arm of his chair until he heard the rumble of wheels, then went to the window.  “It’s Isabel,” he announced, joyously.  “I’ll go down and help her out—­she may have parcels.”

Presently they came in together, laughing.  Isabel’s face was flushed and Allison was heavily laden with packages, both small and large.  “I feel like Santa Claus,” he cried, gaily, to Madame, as she passed them on the way out.

She smiled, but did not take the trouble to speak.  “Colonel Kent’s,” she called to the driver, as she closed the carriage door with a resounding bang, “and please hurry.”

The Colonel was on the veranda when she arrived, superintending the gardening operations from there.  He greeted her with surprise, for it was not her way to drive over there alone.  “I am deeply honoured,” he said, as he assisted her up the steps.  “May I order tea?”

“No, thank you,” she answered, somewhat primly.  It was evident that she was ill at ease.  “I understood from Allison that you were doing all this yourself.  Instead, I find you sitting on the veranda like a landed proprietor, in command of an army of slaves.”