true
lover!"

Whether or not Mary Falconer really had an exalted idea of the merits
of Bon Jour, or whether she thoroughly understood the situation, how
was her friend to know?

Falconer adored the horse, and the lady showed in the matter, as in
everything else, a fine loyalty to her husband, which was undoubtedly
one of the reasons why--but this is going too deeply into the domain of
Bulstrode's feelings, which, since he keeps them honorably sealed, it
is unworthy to surprise even in the interest of psychology.

Bulstrode saw that his friend was pleased: her color, her mounting
spirits at dinner, showed it. She spoke with interest of the races,
and with confidence greater than she had hitherto evinced in the
fortunes of her husband's racer--indeed she talked horse to Molly's
edification, her husband's delight, and Bulstrode's admiration. All
this--the sense that the party was, so to speak, with him--put Jack
Falconer in the best of spirits, and the unruffled course of the
dinner, and, above all, the humor of the elder of the two ladies, quite
repaid Jimmy Bulstrode for the sure loss of his stakes.

"Does she really think that I have faith in the horse?" he
wondered---meeting her charming eyes over the glass of champagne she
was drinking. They did not answer in text his question, but their glow
and the light of content in them answered for him other questions which
were perhaps of greater interest.

She was not unhappy. All his life, since his acquaintance with her, it
had been his aim, in so far as he could aid it, that she should not be
unhappy. His idea of affection was that in all cases it should bring
to the object--joy. In his own life these things which brought him, no
matter how pleasant they might be, the after taste of regret and misery
he strove with all his manliness to tear out: "and surely," he so
argued, "if my presence in her life cause her for one moment anything
but peace, it would be better that we had never looked into each
other's eyes."

There was nothing especially buoyant, in the attitude of the young
Marquis! His inclination to feminine will had cost him--he was so
familiar with the turf and the next day's programme to feel sure--five
thousand francs, which he had not the means to pay.

Later in the evening, very much later, indeed well on to one o'clock,
Bulstrode, wandering through the baccarat rooms--for no other purpose,
it would be said from his indifferent air, than to s