“That,” he answered, tossing away the match, “is to be expected." She laughed nervously. "Good night," he added, "and remember my bet." What could he have meant when he had declared that she would not remain in Quicksands? CHAPTER VI GAD AND MENI THERE was an orthodox place of worship at Quicksands, a temple not merely opened up for an hour or so on Sunday mornings to be shut tight during the remainder of the week although it was thronged with devotees on the Sabbath. This temple, of course, was the Quicksands Club. Howard Spence was quite orthodox; and, like some of our Puritan forefathers, did not even come home to the midday meal on the first day of the week. But a certain instinct of protest and of nonconformity which may have been remarked in our heroine sent her to St. Andrews-bythe-Sea by no means so well attended as the house of Gad and Meni. She walked home in a pleasantly contemplative state of mind through a field of daisies, and had just arrived at the hedge in front of the Brackens when the sound of hoofs behind her caused her to turn. Mr. Trixton Brent, very firmly astride of a restive, fleabitten polo pony, surveyed her amusedly. "Where have you been?" said he. "To church," replied Honora, demurely. "I had my doubts about that, too," he declared. "What is it, then?" she asked laughingly, wondering why he had such a faculty of stirring her excitement and interest. "Dissatisfaction," was his prompt reply. "I don't see why you say that," she protested. "I'm prepared to make my wager definite," said he. "The odds are a thoroughbred horse against a personally "I'm devoted to it," she declared. It was true. For many weeks that spring, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, she had gone up from Rivington to Harvey's Riding Academy, near Central Park. Thus she had acquired the elements of the equestrian art, and incidentally aroused the enthusiasm of a riding-master. 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?" 66 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 phaëton 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 knowalthough 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. "And fickle." "Still more encouraging. Most men are fickle. We're predatory animals.” "It's just as well that I am warned," said Honora. She raised her parasol and picked up her skirts and shot him a look. Although he did not resemble in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, he reminded her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon and a lady ; the lady obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor's scrutiny. The picture had suggested a probable future for the lady. "How long will it take you to dress?" he asked. "To dress for what?" "To ride with me." "I'm not going to ride with you," she said, and experienced a tingle of satisfaction from his surprise. "Why not?" he demanded. "In the first place, because I don't want to; and in the second, because I'm expecting Lily Dallam." "Lily never keeps an engagement," he said. "That's no reason why I shouldn't," Honora answered. "I'm beginning to think you're deuced clever," said he. "How unfortunate for me!" she exclaimed. He laughed, although it was plain that he was obviously put out. Honora was still smiling. "Deuced clever," he repeated. "An experienced moth," suggested Honora; "perhaps one that has been singed a little, once or twice. Good-by -I've enjoyed myself immensely." She glanced back at him as she walked down the path to the roadway. He was still standing where she had left him, his feet slightly apart, his hands in the pockets of his riding breeches, looking after her. Her announcement of an engagement with Mrs. Dallam had been, to put it politely, fiction. She spent the rest of the afternoon writing letters home, pausing at periods to look out of the window. Occasionally it appeared that her reflections were amusing. At seven o'clock Howard arrived, flushed and tired after his day of rest. "By the way, Honora, I saw Trixy Brent at the Club, and he said you wouldn't go riding with him." "Do you call him Trixy to his face?" she asked. "What? No- but every one calls him Trixy. What's the matter with you?" "Nothing," she replied. "Only the habit every one has in Quicksands of speaking of people they don't know well by their nicknames seems rather bad taste." "I thought you liked Quicksands," he retorted. weren't happy until you got down here." "It's infinitely better than Rivington," she said. "You |