ut do not ask any other man
to let you go on."

Her ideas reeling, she struggled for comprehension.

"You, what could you do?" she marveled. "The substitute--"

"There won't be any substitute," replied Lestrange with perfect
coolness. "I shall train Dick Ffrench to do his work."

"You--"

"I can, and I will."

"He can not--"

"Oh, yes, he can; he is just idle and spoiled," the firm lips set more
firmly. "He shall take his place. I can handle him."

Emily sat quite helplessly, her eyes black with excitement. Slowly
recollection flowed back to her of a change in Dick since his light
contact with Lestrange; his avoidance of even occasional highballs,
his awakening interest in the clean sport of the races, and his
half-wistful admiration for the virile driver-manager.

"I almost believe you could," she conceded.

"I can," repeated Lestrange. "Only," he openly smiled, "it will be
hard on Dickie."

It was the touch needed, the antidote to sentiment. Emily laughed with
him, laughed in sheer mischief and relief and leap of youth.

"You will be gentle--poor Dickie!"

"I'll be gentle. He is coming now, I think." He took a step nearer
her. "You will leave this in my care, wholly? You will not trouble
about--a substitute?"

"I will leave it with you. But you are forgetting your own doctrine;
you are taking some one else's work to do."

"Pardon, I am merely making Ffrench do his work. I have seen a little
more of him than you perhaps know; I understand what I am undertaking.
Moreover, I would forget a great many doctrines to set you free."

"Free?" she echoed; she had the sensation of being suddenly confronted
with an open door into the unexpected.

"Free," he quietly reasserted. "Free to live your own life and draw
unhampered breath, and to decide the great question when it comes,
with thought only of yourself."

She drew back; a prescient dismay fell sharply across her late relief,
a panic crossed with strange delight.

"He's off," called Dick, emerging from the park. "I made Anderson
take him down with the limousine. At least, Rupert is driving while
Anderson sits alongside and holds on; when they came to the turn in
the avenue, your precious mechanician took it full speed and then
apologized for going so slowly because, as he said, he was an amateur
and likely to upset. Is he really a good driver, Lestrange?"

"Pretty fair," returned Lestrange serenely, from his seat on the edge
of the ditched machine.