Tears were in her voice, though not in her eyes.

Major Waring tried to study her with the coolness of a man who has learnt to doubt the truth of women; but he had once yearned in a young man’s frenzy of love to take that delicate shape in his arms, and he was not proof against the sedate sweet face and keen sad ring of the voice.

He spoke earnestly.

“You honour me by caring for my opinion.  The past is buried.  I have some forgiveness to ask.  Much, when I think of it—­very much.  I did you a public wrong.  From a man to a woman it was unpardonable.  It is a blot on my career.  I beg you humbly to believe that I repent it.”

The sun was flaming with great wings red among the vapours; and in the recollection of the two, as they rode onward facing it, arose that day of the forlorn charge of English horse in the Indian jungle, the thunder and the dust, the fire and the dense knot of the struggle.  And like a ghost sweeping across her eyeballs, Mrs. Lovell beheld, part in his English freshness, part ensanguined, the image of the gallant boy who had ridden to perish at the spur of her mad whim.  She forgot all present surroundings.

“Percy!” she said.

“Madam?”

“Percy!”

“Margaret?”

“Oh, what an undying day, Percy!”

And then she was speechless.

CHAPTER XXVII

The Park had been empty, but the opera-house was full; and in the brilliance of the lights and divine soaring of the music, the genius of Champagne luncheons discussed the fate of the horse Templemore; some, as a matter of remote history; some, as another delusion in horse-flesh the greater number, however, with a determination to stand by the beaten favourite, though he had fallen, and proclaim him the best of racers and an animal foully mishandled on the course.  There were whispers, and hints, and assertions; now implicating the jockey, now the owner of Templemore.  The Manchester party, and the Yorkshire party, and their diverse villanous tricks, came under review.  Several offered to back Templemore at double the money they had lost, against the winner.  A favourite on whom money has been staked, not only has friends, but in adversity he is still believed in; nor could it well be otherwise, for the money, no doubt, stands for faith, or it would never have been put up to the risks of a forfeit.

Foremost and wildest among the excited young men who animated the stalls, and rushed about the lobby, was Algernon.  He was the genius of Champagne luncheon incarnate.  On him devolves, for a time, the movement of this story, and we shall do well to contemplate him, though he may seem possibly to be worthless.  What is worthless, if it be well looked at?  Nay, the most worthless creatures are most serviceable for examination, when the microscope is applied to them, as a simple study of human mechanism.  This youth is one of great Nature’s tom-fools:  an elegant young gentleman outwardly, of the very large class who are simply the engines of their appetites, and, to the philosophic eye, still run wild in woods, as did the primitive nobleman that made a noise in the earlier world.