It was nine o’clock when Brewster finally rose, and after his tub he felt ready to cope with any problem, even a substantial breakfast.  A message had come to him from Mr. Grant of Grant & Ripley, announcing the receipt of important dispatches from Montana, and asking him to luncheon at one.  He had time to spare, and as Margaret and Mrs. Gray had gone out, he telephoned Ellis to take his horse to the entrance to the park at once.  The crisp autumn air was perfect for his ride, and Brewster found a number of smart people already riding and driving in the park.  His horse was keen for a canter and he had reached the obelisk before he drew rein.  As he was about to cross the carriage road he was nearly run down by Miss Drew in her new French automobile.

“I beg your pardon,” she cried.  “You’re the third person I’ve run into, so you see I’m not discriminating against you.”

“I should be flattered even to be run down by you.”

“Very well, then, look out.”  And she started the machine as if to charge him.  She stopped in time, and said with a laugh, “Your gallantry deserves a reward.  Wouldn’t you rather send your horse home and come for a ride with me?”

“My man is waiting at Fifty-ninth Street.  If you’ll come that far, I’ll go with pleasure.”

Monty had merely a society acquaintance with Miss Drew.  He had met her at dinners and dances as he had a host of other girls, but she had impressed him more than the others.  Something indescribable took place every time their eyes met.  Monty had often wondered just what that something meant, but he had always realized that it had in it nothing of platonic affection.

“If I didn’t have to meet her eyes,” he had said to himself, “I could go on discussing even politics with her, but the moment she looks at me I know she can see what I’m thinking about.”  From the first they considered themselves very good friends, and after their third meeting it seemed perfectly natural that they should call one another by their first names.  Monty knew he was treading on dangerous ground.  It never occurred to him to wonder what Barbara might think of him.  He took it as a matter of course that she must feel more than friendly toward him.  As they rode through the maze of carriages, they bowed frequently to friends as they passed.  They were conscious that some of the women, noticeably old Miss Dexter, actually turned around and gazed at them.

“Aren’t you afraid people will talk about us?” asked Monty with a laugh.

“Talk about our riding together in the park?  It’s just as safe here as it would be in Fifth Avenue.  Besides, who cares?  I fancy we can stand it.”

“You’re a thoroughbred, Barbara.  I simply didn’t want you talked about.  When I go too far, say the word and drop me.”

“I have a luncheon at two, but until then we have our ride.”

Monty gasped and looked at his watch.  “Five minutes to one,” he cried.  The matter of his engagement with the attorney had quite escaped him.  In the exhilaration of Miss Drew’s companionship he had forgotten even Uncle James’s millions.