lling," suggested Brent.
"If you start right after lunch, I'll take you out. We'll have plenty of
time," he added to Honora, "to get back to Quicksands for dinner."

"Are you sure?" she asked anxiously. "I have people for dinner tonight."

"Oh, lots of time," declared Mrs. Kame. "Trixy's car is some unheard-of
horse-power. It's only twenty-five miles to the Faunces', and you'll be
back at the ferry by half-past four."

"Easily," said Trixton Brent.

CHAPTER X

ON THE ART OF LION TAMING

After lunch, while Mrs. Kame was telephoning to her maid and Mr. Grainger
to Mrs. Faunce, Honora found herself alone with Trixton Brent in the
automobile at a moment when the Quicksands party were taking a cab. Mrs.
Chandos parsed long enough to wave her hand.

"Bon voyage!" she cried. "What an ideal party! and the chauffeur doesn't
understand English. If you don't turn up this evening, Honora, I'll
entertain your guests."

"We must get back," said Honora, involuntarily to Brent. "It would be too
dreadful if we didn't!"

"Are you afraid I'll run off with you?" he asked.

"I believe you're perfectly capable of it," she replied. "If I were wise,
I'd take the train."

"Why don't you?" he demanded.

She smiled.

"I don't know. It's because of your deteriorating influence, I suppose.
And yet I trust you, in spite of my instincts and--my eyes. I'm seriously
put out with you."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later, if you're at a loss," she said, as Mrs. Kame and
Mr. Grainger appeared.

Eight years have elapsed since that day and this writing--an aeon in this
rapidly moving Republic of ours. The roads, although far from perfect
yet, were not then what they have since become. But the weather was dry
and the voyage to Westchester accomplished successfully. It was half-past
three when they drove up the avenue and deposited Mrs. Kame and Cecil
Grainger at the long front of the Faunce house: and Brent, who had been
driving, relinquished the wheel to the chauffeur and joined Honora in the
tonneau. The day was perfect, the woods still heavy with summer foliage,
and the only signs of autumn were the hay mounds and the yellowing
cornstalks stacked amidst the stubble of the fields.

Brent sat silently watching her, for she had raised her veil in saying
good-by to Mrs. Kame, and--as the chauffeur was proceeding slowly--had
not lowered it. Suddenly she turned and looked him full in the face.

"What kind of woman do you think I am?" sh