“Always,” was the prompt rejoinder, while Eloise cast a glance full of appeal at her mother.

The latter continued archly, “If you could see Eloise on a horse you would not blame me for trying to screw up my courage, as I have been doing for days past, to ask you if she might take a canter on Essex Maid in the morning, sometimes, while you are away.  Fanshaw assured me that she would be perfectly safe.”

Mr. Evringham’s cold eyes stared, and then the enormity of the proposition appeared to move him humorously.

“Which maid did Fanshaw say would be safe?” he inquired, while Eloise glowed with mortification.

“Well, if you think Eloise can’t ride, try her some time!” exclaimed the widow gayly.  It had been a matter of surprise and afterward of resentment that Mr. Evringham could remain deaf to her hints so long, and she had determined to become frank.  “Or else ask Dr. Ballard,” she went on; “he has very kindly provided Eloise with a horse several times, but the child likes a solitary ride, sometimes, as well as you do.”

The steely look returned to the host’s eyes.  “No one rides the Maid but myself,” he returned coldly.

“I beg you to believe, grandfather, that I don’t wish to ride her,” said Eloise, her customary languor of manner gone and her voice hard.  “Mother is more ambitious for me than I am for myself.  I should be very much obliged if she would allow me to ask favors when I want them.”

Mrs. Forbes’s lips were set in a tight line as she filled Mrs. Evringham’s glass.

That lady’s heart was beating a little fast from vexation, and also from the knowledge that a time of reckoning with her child was coming.

“Oh, very well,” she said airily.  “No wonder you are careful of that beautiful creature.  I caught Eloise with her arms around the mare’s neck the other day, and I couldn’t help wishing for a kodak.  You feed her with sugar, don’t you Eloise?”

“I hope not, I’m sure!” exclaimed Mr. Evringham sternly.

“I’ll not do it again, grandfather,” said the girl, her very ears burning.

Mrs. Evringham sighed and gave one Parthian shot.  “The poor child does love horses so,” she murmured softly.

The host scowled and fidgeted in his chair with a brusque gesture to Mrs. Forbes to remove the course.

“Harry has turned up again,” he remarked, to change the subject.

“Really?” returned his daughter-in-law languidly.  “For how long I wonder?”

“He thinks it is permanent.”

“He is still in Chicago?”

“Yes, for a day or two.  He and his wife sail for Europe immediately.”

“Indeed!” with a greater show of interest.  Then, curiously, “Are you sending them, father?”

“Scarcely!  They are going on business.”

“Oh,” relapsing into indifference.  “They have a child, I believe.”

“Yes, a girl.  I should think perhaps you might have remembered it.”