in, and at
his suggestion, backed by Lord Dunfolly and Lord Dargan, Gaston became
Master of the Hounds. His grandfather and great-grandfather had been
Master of the Hounds before him. Hunting was a keen enjoyment--one
outlet for wild life in him--and at the last meet of the year he rode
in Captain Maudsley's place. They had a good run, and the taste of it
remained with Gaston for many a day; he thought of it sometimes as he
rode in the Park now every morning--with Delia and her mother.

Jacques and his broncho came no more, or if they did it was at
unseasonable hours, and then to be often reprimanded (and twice
arrested) for furious riding. Gaston had a bad moment when he told
Jacques that he need not come with him again. He did it casually, but,
cool as he was, a cold sweat came on his cheek. He had to take a little
brandy to steady himself--yet he had looked into menacing rifle-barrels
more than once without a tremor. It was clear, on the face of it, that
Delia and her mother should be his companions in the Park, and not
this grave little half-breed; but, somehow, it got on his nerves. He
hesitated for days before he could cast the die against Jacques. It had
been the one open bond of the old life; yet the man was but a servant,
and to be treated as such, and was, indeed, except on rarest occasions.
If Delia had known that Gaston balanced the matter between her and
Jacques, her indignation might perhaps have sent matters to a crisis.
But Gaston did the only possible thing; and the weeks drifted on.

Happy? It was inexplicable even to himself that at times, when he left
Delia, he said unconsciously: "Well, it's a pity!"

But she was happy in her way. His dark, mysterious face with its
background of abstraction, his unusual life, distinguished presence,
and the fact that people of great note sought his conversation, all
strengthened the bonds, and deepened her imagination; and imagination is
at the root of much that passes for love. Gaston was approached at Lord
Dargan's house by the Premier himself. It was suggested that he should
stand for a constituency in the Conservative interest. Lord Faramond,
himself picturesque, acute, with a keen knowledge of character and a
taste for originality, saw material for a useful supporter--fearless,
independent, with a gift for saying ironical things, and some primitive
and fundamental principles well digested.

Gaston, smiling, said that he would only be a buffalo fretting on a