plausible cause, yet even before that he had noticed that whenever he approached her she managed to be talking with some one else.  Two or three times he was sure she had seen his intention before she took refuge with Mrs. Dan or Mary Valentine or Pettingill.  The thought of the last name gave Monty a sudden thrill.  What if it were he who had come between them?  It troubled him, but there were moments when the idea seemed impossible.  As they mounted and started off, the exhilaration of the ride made him hopeful.  They were to have dinner in the open air in the shadow of an abbey ruin some miles away, and the servants had been sent ahead to prepare it.  It went well, and with Mrs. Dan’s help the dinner was made gay.  On the return Monty who was off last spurred up his horse to join Peggy.  She seemed eager to be with the rest and he lost no time with a preamble.

“Do you know, Peggy,” he began, “something seems to be wrong, and I am wondering what it is.”

“Why, what do you mean, Monty?” as he paused.

“Every time I come near you, child, you seem to have something else to do.  If I join the group you are in, it is the signal for you to break away.”

“Nonsense, Monty, why should I avoid you?  We have known one another much too long for that.”  But he thought he detected some contradiction in her eyes, and he was right.  The girl was afraid of him, afraid of the sensations he awoke, afraid desperately of betrayal.

“Pettingill may appeal to you,” he said, and his voice was serious, “but you might at least be courteous to me.”

“How absurd you are, Monty Brewster.”  The girl grew hot.  “You needn’t think that your million gives you the privilege of dictating to all of your guests.”

“Peggy, how can you,” he interjected.

She went on ruthlessly.  “If my conduct interferes with your highness’s pleasure I can easily join the Prestons in Paris.”

Suddenly Brewster remembered that Pettingill had spoken of the Prestons and expressed a fleeting wish that he might be with them in the Latin Quarter.  “With Pettingill to follow, I suppose,” he said, icily.  “It would certainly give you more privacy.”

“And Mrs. Dan more opportunities,” she retorted as he dropped back toward the others.

The artist instantly took his place.  The next moment he had challenged her to a race and they were flying down the road in the moonlight.  Brewster, not to be outdone, was after them, but it was only a moment before his horse shied violently at something black in the road.  Then he saw Peggy’s horse galloping riderless.  Instantly, with fear at his throat, he had dismounted and was at the girl’s side.  She was not hurt, they found, only bruised and dazed and somewhat lamed.  A girth had broken and her saddle turned.  The crowd waited, silent and somewhat awed, until the carriage with the servants came up and she was put into it.  Mrs. Dan’s maid was there and Peggy insisted that she would have no one else.  But as Monty helped her in, he had whispered, “You won’t go, child, will you?  How could things go on here?”