now in the man's steady look; the girl seemed not
afraid of it.

"I am fortunate," she laughed. "A compliment from Mr. John Steele!"

"Why not say--the truth?" he observed.

She stroked her horse's glossy neck and smiled furtively at the soft,
velvet surface. "The truth?" she replied. "What is it? Where shall we
find it? Isn't it something the old philosophers were always searching
for? Plato, and--some of the others we were taught of in school."

He started as if to speak, but his answer remained unuttered; the man's
lips closed tighter; a moment he watched the small gloved hand, then his
gaze turned to the gray sky.

"So you see, I call compliments, compliments," she ended lightly.

He offered no comment; the horses moved on; suddenly she looked at him.
One of those odd changes she had once or twice noticed before had come
over John Steele; his face appeared too grave, too reserved; she might
almost fancy a stormy play of emotion behind that mask of immobility.
The girl's long lashes lowered; a slightly puzzled expression shone from
her eyes. It may be she had but the natural curiosity of her sex, that
her interest was compelled, because, although she had studied this man
from various standpoints, his personality, strong, direct in some ways,
she seemed unable to fathom. The golden head tilted; she allowed an
impression of his profile to grow upon her.

"Do you know," she laughingly remarked, "you are not very interesting?"

He started. "Interesting!"

"A penny for your thoughts!" ironically.

"They're not worth it."

"No?"

He bent a little nearer; she swept back the disordered lock; an instant
the man seemed to lose his self-possession. "Ah," he began, as if the
words forced themselves from his lips, "if only I might--"

What he had been on the point of saying was never finished; the girl's
quick glance, sweeping an instant ahead, had lingered on some one
approaching from the opposite direction, and catching sight of him, she
had just missed noting that swift alteration in John Steele's tones, the
brief abandonment of studied control, a flare of irresistible feeling.

"Isn't that Lord Ronsdale?" asked the girl, continuing to gaze before
her.

A black look replaced the sudden flame in Steele's gaze; the hand
holding the reins closed on them tightly.

"Rather early for him, I fancy," she said, regarding the slim figure of
the approaching rider. "With his devotion to clubs and late hours, you
know!