But in the spring of her twenty-first year, leave, often refused, was granted, and she joined the Churchills in London.  The first week passed in a delightful confusion—­whether her new dresses, or her unaccustomed liberty, or the opera, or the park, or the companionship of Helen, or the absence of George, were the most delightful, she would have been puzzled to say.  The next week her head steadied a little—­everything was delightful, but it was London, and not fairyland; it could not be denied that the rooms were hot, and that one came down rather tired in the morning.  Mrs. Churchill, however, had a remedy for that.  She had a pretty pair of ponies which carried her well out of London almost every morning, into fresh air and green lanes, and she took Mary with her.  After breakfast they used to start, and make their expedition long or short, according to the day’s engagements.

One morning they had completely escaped from town, and were driving along a pleasant road, shady and quiet, where, in those days, no suburban villas had sprung up, but where a park paling was overhung by trees on one side, and on the other, fields stretched away upon a gentle slope.  They had lately met but few people, and Helen, never a very careful driver, had been letting her ponies do pretty much what they liked.  At last the lively little animals, perhaps out of pure wilfulness, chose to take fright at something by the roadside; they made a sudden rush, and their mistress all at once found herself quite unable to hold them.  There was no immediate danger, the road being both good and clear, but as they went on, their pace, instead of subsiding, seemed to increase.  The carriage was not of the low build of these days, and the servant hesitated to risk a jump from his perch at the back.  Meantime a corner was in sight, which it would be hazardous to turn at this pace.  Mary sat, pale and terrified, only just sufficiently mistress of herself not to scream when suddenly, two men appeared coming towards them round the dreaded corner.  In another moment the adventure was over—­the ponies had been stopped by one of the two strangers, and were standing panting but subdued; and Helen, recovering her self-possession the moment she was out of danger, was leaning forward to pour out thanks and explanations.

Mary, having less to do, had more leisure to look at the new-comers.  They were both young, and dressed like English gentlemen, but they had both something foreign and unusual in their appearance.  But there was this difference—­that the foreign aspect was of a kind singularly attractive in the one, and unattractive in the other.  One might have been a Frenchman of mauvais ton, but that he spoke English like an American.  The other, who resembled a very handsome Spaniard, spoke with a slight French accent, and in a remarkably musical voice.  The handsome one, indeed, spoke very little—­it was he who had first stepped into the road and caught