Sara was strumming on the grand pianoforte as we passed her; her slim fingers were running lazily over the keys in the 'Verliebt und Verloren' valse.
Clarence was lighting the candles; William was bringing in the coffee; and Colonel Ferguson was following rather unceremoniously.

People were always dropping in at Hyde Park Gate: perhaps Sara's bright eyes magnetised them.

We had colonels and majors and captains at our will, for there was a martial craze in the house: to-night it was grave, handsome Colonel Ferguson.
He was rather a favourite with Uncle Brian and Aunt Philippa, perhaps because his troubles interested them; he had buried his young wife and child in an Indian grave, and some people said that he had come to England to look out for a second wife.
He was a very handsome man, and still young enough to find favour in a girl's sight, and his wealth made him a _grand parti_ in the parents' eyes.

At present he had bestowed equal attention on Sara and Lesbia, though close observers might have noticed that he lingered longest by Sara's side.
'How do you do, Colonel Ferguson ?' said Sara, nodding to him in her bright, unconcerned way, as she finished her valse.

'Mother is over there talking to Fraeulein: you will find your coffee ready for you.' And her glossy little head bent over the keys again, while the lazy music trickled through her fingers.