“O, Rose, Rose! what do you do to make your husband love you?”

“Do?  Be very naughty!” said Rosamond, forced to think of the exigencies of the moment, and adding lightly, “There! it won’t do to cry.  Here are the gentlemen looking round to see what is the matter.”

Ardently did she wish to have been able to put Cecil into Raymond’s arms and run out of sight, but with two men-servants with crossed arms behind, a strange gentleman in front, the streets of Wil’sbro’ at hand, and the race-ground impending, sentiment was impossible, and she could only make herself a tonic, and declare nothing to be the matter; while Cecil, horrified at attracting notice, righted herself and made protest of her perfect health and comfort.  When Raymond, always careful of her, stopped the carriage and descended from his perch to certify himself whether she was equal to going on, his solicitude went to her heart, and she gave his hand, as it lay on the door, an affectionate thankful pressure, which so amazed him that he raised his eyes to her face with a softness in them that made them for a moment resemble Frank’s.

That was all, emotion must be kept at bay, and as vehicles thickened round them as they passed through Wil’sbro’, the two ladies betook themselves to casual remarks upon them.  Overtaking the Sirenwood carriage just at the turn upon the down, Raymond had no choice but to take up his station with that on one side, and on the other Captain Duncombe’s drag, where, fluttering with Dark Hag’s colours, were perched Mrs. Duncombe and Miss Moy, just in the rear of the like conveyance from the barracks.

Greetings, and invitations to both elevations were plentiful, and Rosamond would have felt in her element on the military one.  She was rapidly calculating, with her good-natured eye, whether the choice her rank gave her would exclude some eager girl, when Cecil whispered, “Stay with me pray,” with an irresistibly beseeching tone.  So the Strangeways sisters climbed up, nothing loth; Lady Tyrrell sat with her father, the centre of a throng of gentlemen, who welcomed her to the ground where she used to be a reigning belle; and the Colonel’s wife, Mrs. Ross, came to sit with Lady Rosamond.  The whole was perfect enjoyment to the last.  She felt it a delightful taste of her merry old Bohemian days to sit in the clear September sunshine, exhilarated by the brilliancy and life around, laughing with her own little court of officers, exclaiming at every droll episode, holding her breath with the thrill of universal expectation and excitement, in the wonderful hush of the multitude as the thud of the hoofs and rush in the wind was heard coming nearer, straining her eyes as the glossy creatures and their gay riders flashed past, and setting her whole heart for the moment on the one she was told to care for.

Raymond, seeing his ladies well provided for, gave up his reins to the coachman, and started in quest of a friend from the other side of the county.  About an hour later, when luncheon was in full progress, and Rosamond was, by Cecil’s languor, driven into doing the honours, with her most sunshiny drollery and mirth, Raymond’s hand was on the carriage door, and he asked in haste, “Can you spare me a glass of champagne?  Have you a scent-bottle?”