“This is a ridiculous fancy of yours, Honora.  The horse is all right.  I’ve ridden dozens of worse ones.”

“Oh, I’m sure he isn’t,” she cried; “call it fancy, call it instinct, call it anything you like—­but I feel it, Hugh.  That woman—­Mrs. Rindge—­knows something about horses, and she said he was a brute.”

“Yes,” he interrupted, with a short laugh, “and she wants to ride him.”

“Hugh, she’s reckless.  I—­I’ve been watching her since she came here, and I’m sure she’s reckless with—­with a purpose.”

“You’re morbid,” he said.  “She’s one of the best sportswomen in the country—­that’s the reason she wanted to ride the horse.  Look here, Honora, I’d accede to any reasonable request.  But what do you expect me to do?” he demanded; “go down and say I’m afraid to ride him? or that my wife doesn’t want me to?  I’d never hear the end of it.  And the first thing Adele would do would be to jump on him herself—­a little wisp of a woman that looks as if she couldn’t hold a Shetland pony!  Can’t you see that what you ask is impossible?”

He started for the door to terminate a conversation which had already begun to irritate him.  For his anger, in these days, was very near the surface.  She made one more desperate appeal.

“Hugh—­the man who sold him—­he knew the horse was dangerous.  I’m sure he did, from something he said to me while you were gone.”

“These country people are all idiots and cowards,” declared Chiltern.  “I’ve known ’em a good while, and they haven’t got the spirit of mongrel dogs.  I was a fool to think that I could do anything for them.  They’re kind and neighbourly, aren’t they?” he exclaimed.  “If that old rascal flattered himself he deceived me, he was mistaken.  He’d have been mightily pleased if the beast had broken my neck.”

“Hugh!”

“I can’t, Honora.  That’s all there is to it, I can’t.  Now don’t cut up about nothing.  I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.  Adele’s waiting.”

He came back, kissed her hurriedly, turned and opened the door.  She followed him into the hallway, knowing that she had failed, knowing that she never could have succeeded.  There she halted and watched him go down the stairs, and stand with her hands tightly pressed together:  voices reached her, a hurrah from George Pembroke, and the pounding of hoofs on the driveway.  It had seemed such a little thing to ask!

But she did not dwell upon this, now, when fear was gnawing her:  how she had humbled her pride for days and weeks and months for him, and how he had refused her paltry request lest he should be laughed at.  Her reflections then were not on his waning love.  She was filled with the terror of losing him—­of losing all that remained to her in the world.  Presently she began to walk slowly towards the stairs, descended them, and looked around her.  The hall, at least, had not changed.  She listened, and a bee hummed in through the open doorway.  A sudden longing for companionship possessed her-no matter whose; and she walked hurriedly, as though she were followed, through the empty rooms until she came upon George Pembroke stretched at full length on the leather-covered lounge in the library.  He opened his eyes, and got up with alacrity.