‘Thank you,’ said Lady Maud, still busy with the things.  ’I know you are in earnest, and if I needed more money I would ask for it.  But I want to make sure that it is really the right way—­so many people would not think it was, you know, and only time can prove that I’m not mistaken.  There!’ She had finished packing the basket, and she fastened the lid regretfully.  ’I’m afraid we must be going.  It was awfully good of you to come!’

’Wasn’t it?  I’ll be just as good again the day after to-morrow, if you’ll ask me!’

‘Will you?’ rippled the sweet voice pleasantly.  ’Then come at the same time, unless it rains really hard.  I’m not afraid of a shower, you know, and the arch makes a very fair shelter here.  I never catch cold, either.’

She rose, taking up the basket in one hand and shaking down the folds of her old habit with the other.

‘All the same, I’d bring a jacket next time if I were you,’ said her companion, exactly as her mother might have made the suggestion, and scarcely bestowing a glance on her almost too visibly perfect figure.

The old thoroughbred raised his head as they crossed the sward, and made two or three steps towards her of his own accord.  Her foot rested a moment on Mr. Van Torp’s solid hand, and she was in the saddle.  The black was at first less disposed to be docile, but soon yielded at the sight of another carrot.  Mr. Van Torp did not take the trouble to put his foot into the stirrup, but vaulted from the ground with no apparent effort.  Lady Maud smiled approvingly, but not as a woman who loves a man and feels pride in him when he does anything very difficult.  It merely pleased and amused her to see with what ease and indifference the rather heavily-built American did a thing which many a good English rider, gentleman or groom, would have found it hard to do at all.  But Mr. Van Torp had ridden and driven cattle in California for his living before he had been twenty.

He wheeled and came to her side, and held out his hand.

‘Day after to-morrow, at the same time,’ he said as she took it.  ‘Good-bye!’

‘Good-bye, and don’t forget Thursday!’

They parted and rode away in opposite directions, and neither turned, even once, to look back at the other.

CHAPTER XIII

The Elisir d’Amore was received with enthusiasm, but the tenor had it all his own way, as Lushington had foretold, and when Pompeo Stromboli sang ‘Una furtiva lacrima’ the incomparable Cordova was for once eclipsed in the eyes of a hitherto faithful public.  Covent Garden surrendered unconditionally.  Metaphorically speaking, it rolled over on its back, with its four paws in the air, like a small dog that has got the worst of a fight and throws himself on the bigger dog’s mercy.