She felt sorry for him because he had loved her enough to fling to the winds his chances of wealth for her sake—­a sufficient measure of the feelings of one of his nationality and caste.  And she permitted, for an instant, her mind to linger on the supposition that Howard Spence had never come into her life; might she not, when the Vicomte had made his unexpected and generous avowal, have accepted him?  She thought of the romances of her childish days, written at fever heat, in which ladies with titles moved around and gave commands and rebuked lovers who slipped in through wicket gates.  And to think that she might have been a Vicomtesse and have lived in a castle!

A poor Vicomtesse, it is true.

CHAPTER XI

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Honora sat still upon the bench.  After an indefinite period she saw through the trees a vehicle on the driveway, and in it a single passenger.  And suddenly it occurred to her that the passenger must be Peter, for Mrs. Holt had announced her intention of sending for him.  She arose and approached the house, not without a sense of agitation.

She halted a moment at a little distance from the porch, where he was talking with Howard Spence and Joshua, and the fact that he was an unchanged Peter came to her with a shock of surprise.  So much, in less than a year, had happened to Honora!  And the sight of him, and the sound of his voice, brought back with a rush memories of a forgotten past.  How long it seemed since she had lived in St. Louis!

Yes, he was the same Peter, but her absence from him had served to sharpen her sense of certain characteristics.  He was lounging in his chair with his long legs crossed, with one hand in his pocket, and talking to these men as though he had known them always.  There was a quality about him which had never struck her before, and which eluded exact definition.  It had never occurred to her, until now, when she saw him out of the element with which she had always associated him, that Peter Erwin had a personality.  That personality was a mixture of simplicity and self-respect and—­common sense.  And as Honora listened to his cheerful voice, she perceived that he had the gift of expressing himself clearly and forcibly and withal modestly; nor did it escape her that the other two men were listening with a certain deference.  In her sensitive state she tried to evade the contrast thus suddenly presented to her between Peter and the man she had promised, that very morning, to marry.

Howard Spence was seated on the table, smoking a cigarette.  Never, it seemed, had he more distinctly typified to her Prosperity.  An attribute which she had admired in him, of strife without the appearance of strife, lost something of its value.  To look at Peter was to wonder whether there could be such a thing as a well-groomed combatant; and until to-day she had never thought of Peter as a combatant.  The sight of his lean face summoned, all undesired, the vague vision of an ideal, and perhaps it was this that caused her voice to falter a little as she came forward and called his name.  He rose precipitately.