“Harrie, my dear, I am proud of you!  You led us all to-day.  I wouldn’t have taken that nasty place myself, and I didn’t believe even Whirlwind could do it.”

Then George Grosvenor and Lord Ernest and the rest of the men crowded around, and compliments poured in in a deluge.

Sir Everard held himself aloof—­disgusted, nauseated—­or so he told himself.

“Such an unwomanly exhibition!  Such a daring, masculine leap!  And see how she sits and smiles on those empty-headed fox-hunters, like an Amazonian queen in her court!  How different from Lady Louise!  And yet! good heavens! how royally beautiful she is!”

“Alone, Kingsland?” exclaimed a voice at his elbow; and glancing around he saw Lord Carteret.  “What do you think of our pretty Di Vernon?  You don’t often see a lady ride like that.  Why don’t you pay your respects?  Don’t know her, eh?  Come alone; I’ll present you.”

Sir Everard’s heart gave a sudden plunge, quite unaccountably.  Without a word he rode up to where the gray-eyed enchantress held her magic circle.

“Harrie, my dear,” said the elderly nobleman, “I bring a worshiper who hovers aloof and gazes in speechless admiration.  Let me present my young friend, Sir Everard Kingsland, Miss Hunsden.”

Sir Everard took off his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow.

“Sir Everard Kingsland!” cried Captain Hunsden, cordially.  “Son of my old friend, Sir Jasper, I’ll be sworn!  My dear boy, how are you?  I knew your father well.  We were at Rugby together, and sworn companions.  Harrie, this is the son of my oldest friend.”

“Papa’s friends are all mine!”

The voice was clear and sweet as the beaming eyes.  She held out her hand with a frank grace, and Sir Everard took it, its light touch thrilling to the core of his heart.

Sir Everard Kingsland rode back to Carteret Park beside the Indian officer and his daughter as a man might ride in a trance.  Surely within an hour the whole world had been changed!  He rode on air instead of solid soil, and the sunshine of heaven was not half so brilliant as Harriet Hunsden’s smile.

“Confess now, Sir Everard,” she said, “you were shocked and scandalized.  I saw it in your face.  Oh, don’t deny it, and don’t tell polite fibs!  I always shock people, and rather enjoy it than otherwise.”

“Harriet!” her father said, reprovingly.  “She is a spoiled madcap, Sir Everard, and I am afraid the fault is mine.  She has been everywhere with me in her seventeen years of life—­freezing amid the snows of Canada and grilling alive under the broiling sun of India.  And the result is—­what you see.”

“The result is—­perfection!”

“Papa,” Miss Hunsden said, turning her sparkling face to her father, “for Sir Everard’s sake, pray change the subject.  If you talk of me, he will feel in duty bound to pay compliments; and really, after such a fast run, it is too much to expect of any man.  There!  I see Lady Louise across the brook yonder.  I will leave you gentlemen to cultivate one another. Allons, messieurs!”