Lucy the Clement instructed her out of the depths of her own experience in impropriety.  “They swear.  That is what Mrs. Mordan means,” and so to the piano with dignity.

Presently in came Messrs. Fountain and Talboys.  Mrs. Bazalgette asked the former a little crossly how he could make up his mind to leave the gay party downstairs.

“Oh, it was only that fellow Dodd.  The dog is certainly very amusing, but ‘there’s metal more attractive here.’ "

Coffee and tea were fired down at the other gentlemen by way of hints; but Dodd prevailed over all, and it was nearly bedtime when they joined the ladies.

Mr. Talboys had an hour with Lucy, and no rival by to ruffle him.

Next day a riding-party was organized.  Mr. Talboys decided in his mind that Kenealy was even less dangerous than Hardie, so lent him the quieter of his two nags, and rode a hot, rampageous brute, whose very name was Lucifer, so that will give you an idea.  The grooms had driven him with a kicking-strap and two pair of reins, and even so were reluctant to drive him at all, but his steady companion had balanced him a bit.  Lucy was to ride her old pony, and Mrs. Bazalgette the new.  The horses came to the door; one of the grooms offered to put Lucy up.  Talboys waved him loftily back, and then, strange as it may appear, David, for the first time in his life, saw a gentleman lift a lady into the saddle.

Lucy laid her right hand on the pommel and resigned her left foot; Mr. Talboys put his hand under that foot and heaved her smoothly into the saddle.  “That is clever,” thought simple David; “that chap has got more pith in his arm than one would think.”  They cantered away, and left him looking sadly after them.  It seemed so hard that another man should have her sweet foot in his hand, should lift her whole glorious person, and smooth her sacred dress, and he stand by helpless; and then the indifference with which that man had done it all.  To him it had been no sacred pleasure, no great privilege.  A sense of loneliness struck chill on David as the clatter of her pony’s hoofs died away.  He was in the house; but in that house was a sort of inner circle, of which she was the center, and he was to be outside it altogether.

Liable to great wrath upon great occasions, he had little of that small irritability that goes with an egotistical mind and feminine fiber, so he merely hung his head, blamed nobody, and was sad in a manly way.  While he leaned against the portico in this dejected mood, a little hand pulled his coat-tail.  It was Master Reginald, who looked up in his face, and said timidly, “Will you play with me?” The fact is, Mr. Reginald’s natural audacity had received a momentary check.  He had just put this same question to Mr. Hardie in the library, and had been rejected with ignominy, and recommended to go out of doors for his own health and the comfort of such as desired peaceable study of British and foreign intelligence.