“Now the Devil take my foolish tongue,” Aymer muttered, as the door clanged behind her. . .  Then the horn rang out again, and in vast disgust and anger he hurried to his room and into riding dress.

But his haste made him awkward and he lost precious moments; and when at length he rushed down the stairs and into the courtyard it was to see Lord Darby swing the Countess of Clare into saddle and dash off beside her.

De Lacy swore such a string of good round French oaths that the silent Giles Dauvrey was so startled from his wonted equanimity that for the moment he forgot to mount and follow, but stood watching his master in serious wonder, as Selim raced toward the gate.

However, anger would not mend the matter and good humor might, so he put on a smiling front.  And when he presently neared the Countess and Lord Darby he reined close beside her and cantered by with bonnet doffed.

“I shall claim your promise presently,” he said, his eyes seeking her face—­though he doubted much if she would give it to him.

But her humor had veered again, and she answered with such a bewitching smile he was utterly bewildered, and for a time Selim went whither and how he listed.

“May I ask what is the promise?” said Lord Darby.

The Countess raised her eyebrows in annoyed surprise.

“I promised to ride with him this morning.”

“The promise is cancelled now.”

“And why, my lord?”

“He was a sluggard at the start.”

She bent forward and put aright a bit of Wilda’s mane.

“Nay, sir, why should you wish him punished,” said she lightly, “since it gives you a little of my society?”

He leaned suddenly over and laid his hand upon her arm.

“Will you not give it to me until the end of life?” he asked earnestly.

She gazed at him a moment in startled surprise—­then laughed merrily.

“You said that with delightful promptness, my lord,” she exclaimed.  “Practice makes one proficient, surely.”

A cold light settled in Darby’s eyes, and he straightened in the saddle and faced to the front.

“If a man be a gallant once, need that condemn his words to disbelief forever?” he asked. . .  “May not even the most confirmed trifler have, some time, an honest passion?”

“Doubtless, yes,” she said, with a shrug of the shapely shoulders. . .  “Only . . .”

“Only . . . only what?”

“Only that it is very rare and its proof requires strong demonstration and long service.”

“And I am ready to do both,” he said eagerly.

“Then, one day, my lord, you will bring great joy to some loving heart,” she replied, looking him calmly in the eyes.

An awkward silence followed—­that was not broken until Sir Aymer came galloping back.  With a familiarly courteous salute he swung Selim around; and Lord Darby, seizing the opportunity, bowed low to the Countess, and with a menacing glare at De Lacy—­who met it with a careless smile—­he spurred away.