idly away.

"He rides like a gentleman," commented Miss Drake, after reflection.

"Indian blood in him," remarked her companion.

"Let us go home," said she, whirling her horse like a flash. The duke
had some difficulty in keeping abreast of her during the ride and
he lost sight of her altogether after they dismounted at Bazelhurst
Villa.

The momentary glimpse of a real man set Penelope's opinions on edge
for the remainder of the day and night. Shaw, whatever else he might
be, was a man. Even while others addressed her in conversation she was
absent-mindedly recalling to memory certain English gentlemen at home
who could stand comparison with this handsome fellow across the danger
line. But to compare any one of the men in Lady Bazelhurst's house
party--oh, it was absurd! She looked them over. Dull-eyed, blase,
frayed by the social whirl, worn out, pulseless, all of them. They
talked automobile, bridge, women, and self in particular; in the
seclusion of a tete-a-tete they talked love with an ardor that lost
most of its danger because it was from force of habit. One of the men
was even now admitting in her ear that he had not spent an evening
alone with his wife in four years.

"There's always something doing," he said. "A week or two ago, by
Jove, you wouldn't believe it, but we had an evening turn up without a
thing on hand. Strangest thing I ever knew. Neither of us had a thing
on. We said we'd stay at home and go to bed early, just to see how it
felt. Well, what do you think? We sat up and read till half past ten
o'clock and then both of us thought of it at the same time. We dressed
and went down to Hector's and waited for the theatres to let out.
Three o'clock when we got home. You can't imagine what a queer
experience it is, being all alone with one's wife."

"Don't you love your wife, Mr. Odwell?"

"Certainly! but there's always a crowd." Both of them glanced over at
pretty Mrs. Odwell. She was looking down at her plate demurely while
Reggie Van Voort talked straight into her pink ear, his eyes gleaming
with the zest of invasion. "I say, Miss Drake, you won't mind talking
to me a while after dinner, will you?" went on Odwell, something like
relief in his voice.

After dinner she was obliged to set him straight in a little
matter. They were sitting on the terrace and he had thrown away his
half-smoked cigarette, an act in itself significant. She had been
listening patiently, from sheer habit and indiffer