“All men,” said Trixton Brent, “are not so fortunate as Mr. Holt.”

Honora began to have the sensations of a witness to a debate between Mephistopheles and the powers of heaven.  Her head swam.  But Mrs. Holt, who had unlooked-for flashes of humour, laughed, and shook her curls at Brent.

“I should like to lecture you some time,” she said; “I think it would do you good.”

He shook his head.

“I’m beyond redemption.  Don’t you think so, Honora?” he asked, with an unexpected return of his audacity.

“I’m afraid I’m not worthy to judge you,” she replied, and coloured.

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Holt; “women are superior to men, and it’s our duty to keep them in order.  And if we’re really going to risk our lives in your automobile, Mr. Brent, you’d better make sure it’s there,” she added, glancing at her watch.

Having dined together in an apparent and inexplicable amity, their exit was of even more interest to the table in the corner than their entrance had been.  Mrs. Holt’s elderly maid was waiting in the hall, Mrs. Holt’s little trunk was strapped on the rear of the car; and the lady herself, with something of the feelings of a missionary embarking for the wilds of Africa, was assisted up the little step and through the narrow entrance of the tonneau by the combined efforts of Honora and Brent.  An expression of resolution, emblematic of a determination to die, if necessary, in the performance of duty, was on her face as the machinery started; and her breath was not quite normal when, in an incredibly brief period, they descended at the ferry.

The journey to Quicksands was accomplished in a good fellowship which Honora, an hour before, would not have dreamed of.  Even Mrs. Holt was not wholly proof against the charms of Trixton Brent when he chose to exert himself; and for some reason he did so choose.  As they stood in the starlight on the platform of the deserted little station while he went across to Whelen’s livery stable to get a carriage, Mrs. Holt remarked to Honora: 

“Mr. Brent is a fascinating man, my dear.”

“I am so glad that you appreciate him,” exclaimed Honora.

“And a most dangerous one,” continued Mrs. Holt.  “He has probably, in his day, disturbed the peace of mind of a great many young women.  Not that I haven’t the highest confidence in you, Honora, but honesty forces me to confess that you are young and pleasure-loving, and a little heedless.  And the atmosphere in which you live is not likely to correct those tendencies.  If you will take my advice, you will not see too much of Mr. Trixton Brent when your husband is not present.”

Indeed, as to the probable effect of this incident on the relations between Mr. Brent and herself Honora was wholly in the dark.  Although, from her point of view, what she had done had been amply justified by the plea of self-defence, it could not be expected that he would accept it in the same spirit.  The apparent pleasure he had taken in the present situation, once his amazement had been overcome, profoundly puzzled her.