wasn't floored, so I must trouble you for a shilling, Major."

Major Duplay did not look at Janie, still less did he meet his niece's
eye. He spent a few seconds in a futile effort to rub the mud off his
coat with muddy hands; he glanced a moment at Harry.

"I must have another try some day," he said, but with no great
readiness.

"Meanwhile--the shilling!" demanded Harry good-humoredly, a subtle
mockery in his eyes alone showing the imaginary character of the bet
which he claimed to have won.

In the presence of those two inquisitive young women Major Duplay did
not deny the debt. He felt in his pocket, found a shilling, and gave it
to Harry Tristram. That young man looked at it, spun it in the air, and
pocketed it.

"Yes, a revenge whenever you like," said he. "And now we'd better get
home, because it's begun to rain."

"Begun to! It's rained for half-an-hour," said Janie crossly.

"Has it? I didn't notice. I was too busy with the Major's trick."

As he spoke he looked full in Mina Zabriska's face. She bore his glance
for a moment, then cried to Janie, "Oh, please drive on!" The dog-cart
started; the Major, with a stiff touch of his hat, strode along the
road. Harry was left alone by the Pool. His gayety and defiance
vanished; he stood there scowling at the Pool. On the surface the honors
of the encounter were indeed his; the real peril remained, the real
battle had still to be fought. It was with heart-felt sincerity that he
muttered, as he sought for pipe and tobacco:

"I wish I'd drowned the beggar in the Pool!"

VI

THE ATTRACTION OF IT

Mr Jenkinson Neeld sat at lunch at the Imperium Club, quite happy with a
neck chop, last week's _Athenaeum_, and a pint of Apollinaris. To him
enter disturbers of peace.

"How are you, Neeld?" said Lord Southend, taking the chair next him.
"Sit down here, Iver. Let me introduce you--Mr Iver--Mr Neeld. Bill of
fare, waiter." His lordship smiled rather maliciously at Mr Neeld as he
made the introduction, which Iver acknowledged with bluff courtesy,
Neeld with a timid little bow. "How are things down your way?" pursued
Southend, addressing Iver. "Lady Tristram's very ill, I hear?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Wonderful woman that, you know. You ought to have seen her in the
seventies--when she ran away with Randolph Edge."

A gentleman, two tables off, looked round.

"Hush, Southend! That's his brother," whispered Mr Neeld.

"Whose brother?" demanded Southend.