the traffic
at Hyde Park Corner. A light came into Honoria's eyes. It was good to
be alive on such a day! Moreover, in her own purely platonic fashion,
she really entertained a very great liking for the young man seated at
her side.

"You have missed your vocation," she said, while her eyes narrowed and
her upper lip shortened into a delightful smile. "You were born to be a
schoolmaster, a veritable pedagogue and terror of illiterate youth. You
love to correct. And my rather sketchy English gives you an opportunity
of which I observe you are by no means slow to take advantage. You care
infinitely more for the manner of saying, than for the thing said.
Whereas I"--she broke off abruptly, and her face straightened, became
serious, almost severe, again. "Do you see who Sir Reginald is speaking
to?" she added. "There are the Calmadys."

A break had come in the loitering procession of correctly clothed men
and gaily clothed women, of tall hats and many coloured parasols, and
in the space thus afforded, the Brockhurst mail-phaeton became apparent
drawn up against the railings. The horses, a noticeably fine and
well-matched pair of browns, were restless, notwithstanding the groom
at their heads. Foam whitened the rings of their bits and falling
flakes of it dabbled their chests. Lady Calmady leaned sideways over
the leather folds of the hood, answering some inquiry of Sir Reginald,
who, hat in hand, looked up at her. She wore a close-fitting, gray,
velvet coat, which revealed the proportions of her full, but still
youthful figure. The air and sunshine had given her an unusual
brightness of complexion, so that in face as well as in figure, youth
still, in a sensible measure, claimed her. She turned her head,
appealing, as it seemed, to Richard, and the nimble breeze playing
caressingly with the soft white laces and gray plumes of her bonnet
added thereby somehow to the effect of glad and gracious content
pervading her aspect. Richard looked round and down at her, half
laughing. Unquestionably he was victoriously handsome, seen thus,
uplifted above the throng, handling his fine horses, all trace of
bodily disfigurement concealed, a touch of old-world courtliness and
tender respect in his manner as he addressed his mother.

Ludovic Quayle watched the little scene with close attention. Then, as
the ranks of the smart procession closed up again, hiding the carriage
and its occupants from sight, he leaned back with a movement of