ence. Even what had been clean-cut, attractive, in his face
and figure was being marred and coarsened by his slothful habits to an
extent that secretly dismayed her; for she had always thought him very
handsome; and, with that natural perversity of selection, finding in him
a perfect foil to her own character, had been seriously inclined to like
him.

Attractions begin in that way, sometimes, where the gentler is the
stronger, the frailer, the dominant character; and the root is in the
feminine instinct to care for, develop, and make the most of what
palpably needs a protectorate.

Without comprehending her own instinct, Mrs. Ascott had found the
preliminary moulding of Portlaw an agreeable diversion; had rather taken
for granted that she was doing him good; and was correspondingly annoyed
when he parted his moorings and started drifting aimlessly as a
derelict scow awash, floundering seaward without further notice of the
trim little tug standing by and amiably ready to act as convoy.

Now, sitting her saddle in silence she surveyed him, striving to
understand him--his recent indifference, his deterioration, the present
figure he was cutting. And it seemed to her a trifle sad that he had no
one to tell him a few wholesome truths.

"Mr. Portlaw," she said, "do you know that you have been exceedingly
rude to me?"

"Yes, I--do know it."

"Why?" she asked simply.

"I don't know."

"Didn't you care for our friendship? Didn't it amuse and interest you?
How could you have done the things you did--in the way you did?... If
you had asked my permission to build a dozen dams I'd have given it.
Didn't you know it? But my self-respect protested when you so cynically
ignored me--"

"I'm a beast all right," he muttered.

She gazed at him, softened, even faintly amused at his repentant bad-boy
attitude.

"Do you want me to forgive you, Mr. Portlaw?"

"Yes--but you oughtn't."

"That is quite true.... Turn your horse and ride back with me. I'm going
to find out exactly how repentant you really are.... If you pass a
decent examination you may dine with Miss Palliser, Mr. Wayward, and me.
It's too late anyway to return through the forest.... I'll send you over
in the motor."

And as they wheeled and walked their horses forward through the dusk,
she said impulsively:

"We have four for Bridge if you like."

"Alida," he said sincerely, "you _are_ a corker."

She looked up demurely. What she could see to interest her