“Let me be the first to congratulate you, my dear friend,” he said, standing bareheaded at her stirrup, and offering the flowers with a half-bashful smile that sat strangely on a man of his years.  It was a quick, impulsive action, such as no one could have expected from him who did not know him intimately well—­and few could boast that they did.  Margaret was touched by his look and manner.

“Thanks,” she said, bending over her saddle-bow, and taking the daisies as he held them up to her.  “Yes, you are the first—­to congratulate me,” which was true.  He still stood looking at her, and his hand would hardly let go the flowers where his fingers touched hers.  His face grew pale, then ashy-white and he steadied himself against her horse’s neck.

“What is the matter? are you ill? have you hurt yourself?” asked Margaret in real alarm, for he looked as though he were going to faint, and it was a full minute since he had come back to her from the roadside.  Then he made a great effort and collected himself, and the next instant he had dashed after his horse, which was wandering away towards the trees.

“I did feel queer for a minute,” he said when he was once more in the saddle and by her side.  “I dare say it is the heat.  It’s a very hot day, now I think of it.  Would you allow me a cigarette?  I hate to smoke in public, you know, but it will make me all right again.”  Margaret assented, of course, to the request; it was morning, in the recesses of the Park, and nobody would see.  But she looked strangely at him for a minute, wondering what could have produced his sudden dizziness.

They rode more slowly towards the entrance of the Park, and the Countess’s thoughts did not wander again.  She talked to her companion on every subject he broached, showing interest in all he said, and asking questions that she knew would please him.  But the latter part of the ride seemed long, and the drive home interminable, for Margaret was in haste to be alone.  She was not sure that the Duke’s manner had changed since he had turned so strangely pale, but she fancied he spoke as if making an effort.  However, they reached the hotel at last, and separated.

“Thanks, so much,” she said; “it has been such a delightful morning.”

“It has indeed,” said he, “and—­let me congratulate you once more.  Claudius is a gentleman in every way, and—­I suppose he is as worthy of you as any one could be,” he added quickly, in a discontented voice, and turned away, hat in hand.  She stood looking after him a moment.

“I wonder,” she said to herself as she entered her room and closed the door.  “Poor man! it is not possible, though.  I must be dreaming.  Ah me!  I am always dreaming now, it seems to me;” and she sank down in a chair to wait for Clementine.

And so it is that some women go through life making far more victims than they know of.  There are some honest men who will not speak, unless they have a right to, and who are noble enough to help those who have a right.  The Duke had known Margaret ever since she had married Alexis, as has been said.  Whether he had loved her or not is a question not so easily answered.  Certain it is that when she told him she was going to be married to Claudius he turned very pale, and did not recover the entire use of his mind for a whole day.