“Mr. Portlaw,” she said, “do you know that you have been exceedingly rude to me?”

“Yes, I—­do know it.”

“Why?” she asked simply.

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you care for our friendship?  Didn’t it amuse and interest you?  How could you have done the things you did—­in the way you did?...  If you had asked my permission to build a dozen dams I’d have given it.  Didn’t you know it?  But my self-respect protested when you so cynically ignored me—­”

“I’m a beast all right,” he muttered.

She gazed at him, softened, even faintly amused at his repentant bad-boy attitude.

“Do you want me to forgive you, Mr. Portlaw?”

“Yes—­but you oughtn’t.”

“That is quite true....  Turn your horse and ride back with me.  I’m going to find out exactly how repentant you really are....  If you pass a decent examination you may dine with Miss Palliser, Mr. Wayward, and me.  It’s too late anyway to return through the forest....  I’ll send you over in the motor.”

And as they wheeled and walked their horses forward through the dusk, she said impulsively: 

“We have four for Bridge if you like.”

“Alida,” he said sincerely, “you are a corker.”

She looked up demurely.  What she could see to interest her in this lump of a man Heaven alone knew, but a hint of the old half-patient, half-amused liking for him and his slow wits began to flicker once more.  De gustibus—­alas!

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SCHOOL OF THE RECRUIT

When Portlaw arrived home late that evening there existed within his somewhat ordinary intellect a sense of triumph.  The weak usually experience it at the beginning and through every step of their own subjugation.

Malcourt, having decided to take an express which stopped on signal at six in the morning, was reading as usual before the empty fireplace; and at the first glance he suspected what had begun to happen to Portlaw.

The latter bustled about the room with an air of more or less importance, sorted his letters, fussed with a newspaper; and every now and then Malcourt, glancing up, caught Portlaw’s eyes peeping triumphantly around corners at him.

“You’ve been riding?” he said, much amused.  “Are you stiff?”

“A trifle,” replied the other carelessly.  “I must keep it up.  Really, you know, I’ve rather neglected the horses lately.”

“Rather.  So you’re taking up riding again?”

Portlaw nodded:  “I’ve come to the conclusion that I need exercise.”

Malcourt, who had been urging him for years to exercise, nodded approval as though the suggestion were a brand-new one.

“Yes,” said Portlaw, “I shall ride, I think, every day.  I intend to do a good bit of tramping, too.  It’s excellent for the liver, Louis.”

At this piece of inspired information Malcourt assumed an expression of deepest interest, but hoped Portlaw might not overdo it.