side of the ferry.

"What will they think?" cried Honora. "They saw us leave Delmonico's at
two o'clock, and they didn't know we were going to Westchester."

It needed no very vivid imagination to summon up the probable remarks of
Mrs. Chandos on the affair. It was all very well to say the motor broke
down; but unfortunately Trixton Brent's reputation was not much better
than that of his car.

Trixton Brent, as might have been expected, was inclined to treat the
matter as a joke.

"There's nothing very formal about a Quicksands dinner-party," he
said. "We'll have a cosey little dinner in town, and call 'em up on the
telephone."

She herself was surprised at the spirit of recklessness stealing over
her, for there was, after all, a certain appealing glamour in the
adventure. She was thrilled by the swift, gliding motion of the
automobile, the weird and unfamiliar character of these upper reaches of
a great city in the twilight, where new houses stood alone or in rows
on wide levelled tracts; and old houses, once in the country, were seen
high above the roadway behind crumbling fences, surrounded by gloomy old
trees with rotting branches. She stole a glance at the man close beside
her; a delightful fear of him made her shiver, and she shrank closer
into the corner of the seat.

"Honora!"

All at once he had seized her hand again, and held it in spite of her
efforts to release it.

"Honora," he said, "I love you as I have never loved in my life. As I
never shall love again."

"Oh--you mustn't say that!" she cried.

"Why not?" he demanded. "Why not, if I feel it?"

"Because," faltered Honora, "because I can't listen to you."

Brent made a motion of disdain with his free hand.

"I don't pretend that it's right," he said. "I'm not a hypocrite,
anyway, thank God! It's undoubtedly wrong, according to all moral codes.
I've never paid any attention to them. You're married. I'm happy to say
I'm divorced. You've got a husband. I won't be guilty of the bad taste
of discussing him. He's a good fellow enough, but he never thinks about
you from the time the Exchange opens in the morning until he gets home
at night and wants his dinner. You don't love him--it would be a miracle
if a woman with any spirit did. He hasn't any more of an idea of what he
possesses by legal right than the man I discovered driving in a cart
one of the best hunters I ever had in my stables. To say that he doesn't
appreciate you is a ludicrous u