After Mrs. Chandos had smoked three of the cigarettes which her host specially imported from Egypt, she declared, with no superabundance of enthusiasm, that she was ready to go and see what Trixy had in the “stables.”  In spite of that lady’s somewhat obvious impatience, Honora insisted upon admiring everything from the monogram of coloured sands so deftly woven on the white in the coach house, to the hunters and polo ponies in their rows of boxes.  At last Vercingetorix, the latest acquisition of which Brent had spoken, was uncovered and trotted around the ring.

“I’m sorry, Trixy, but I’ve really got to leave,” said Mrs. Chandos.  “And I’m in such a predicament!  I promised Fanny Darlington I’d go over there, and it’s eight miles, and both my horses are lame.”

Brent turned to his coachman.

“Put a pair in the victoria right away and drive Mrs. Chandos to Mrs. Darlington’s,” he said.

She looked at him, and her lip quivered.

“You always were the soul of generosity, Trixy, but why the victoria?”

“My dear Lula,” he replied, “if there’s any other carriage you prefer—?”

Honora did not hear the answer, which at any rate was scarcely audible.  She moved away, and her eyes continued to follow Vercingetorix as he trotted about the tan-bark after a groom.  And presently she was aware that Trixton Brent was standing beside her.

“What do you think of him?” he asked.

“He’s adorable,” declared Honora.  Would you like to try him?”

“Oh—­might I?  Sometime?”

“Why not to-day—­now?” he said.  “I’ll send him over to your house and have your saddle put on him.”

Before Honora could protest Mrs. Chandos came forward.

“It’s awfully sweet of you, Trixy, to offer to send me to Fanny’s, but Warry says he will drive me over.  Good-by, my dear,” she added, holding out her hand to Honora.

“I hope you enjoy your ride.”

Mr. Trowbridge’s phaeton was brought up, Brent helped Mrs. Chandos in, and stood for a moment gazing after her.  Amusement was still in his eyes as he turned to Honora.

“Poor Lula!” he said.  “Most women could have done it better than that —­couldn’t they?”

“I think you were horrid to her,” exclaimed Honora, indignantly.  “It wouldn’t have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington’s.”

It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at which they had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived.

“Oh, yes, it would hurt me,” said he.  “I’d rather spend a day in jail than drive with Lula in that frame of mind.  Tender reproaches, and all that sort of thing, you know although I can’t believe you ever indulge in them.  Don’t,” he added.

In spite of the fact that she was up in arms for her sex, Honora smiled.

“Do you know,” she said slowly, “I’m beginning to think you are a brute.”

“That’s encouraging,” he replied.