Shiela had straightened up, trowel in her gloved hand, and now stood looking at him in amused surprise.

“I didn’t know you rode,” she said.  “I should think it would be very good for you.”

“Well,” he admitted, turning red, “I suppose I ought to ride now and then.  Louis has been at me rather viciously.  But you won’t tell him, will you?”

“No,” said Shiela.

“Because, you see, he doesn’t think me capable of settling this thing; and so I’m just going to gallop over and have a little friendly chat with Mrs. Ascott—­”

“Friendly?” very gravely.

“Yes,” he said, alarmed; “why not?”

“Do you think Mrs. Ascott will receive you?”

“Well—­now—­Louis said something of that sort.  And then he added that it didn’t matter—­but he didn’t explain what I was to do when she refused to see me....  Ah—­could—­would you mind telling me what to do in that case, Mrs. Malcourt?”

“What is there to do, Mr. Portlaw, if a woman refuses to receive you?”

“Why—­I don’t know,” he admitted vacantly.  “What would you do?”

Young Mrs. Malcourt, frankly amused, shook her head: 

“If Mrs. Ascott won’t see you, she won’t!  You don’t intend to carry Pride’s Fall by assault, do you?”

“But Louis said—­”

“Mr. Malcourt knows quite well that Mrs. Ascott won’t see you.”

“W-why?”

“Ask yourself.  Besides, her lawyers have forbidden her.”

But Portlaw’s simple faith in Malcourt never wavered; he stood his ground and quoted him naively, adding:  “You see Louis must have meant something.  Couldn’t you tell me what he meant?  I’ll promise to do it.”

“I suppose,” she answered, laughing, “that he meant me to write a note to Alida Ascott, making a personal appeal for your reception.  He spoke of it; but, Mr. Portlaw, I am scarcely on such a footing with her.”

Portlaw was so innocently delighted with the idea which bore Malcourt’s stamp of authority, that young Mrs. Malcourt found it difficult to refuse; and a few moments later, armed with a friendly but cautious note, he climbed laboriously aboard a huge chestnut hack, sat there doubtfully while a groom made all fast and tight for heavy weather, then, with a groan, set spurs to his mount, and went pounding away through the forest, upon diplomacy intent.

Hamil, walking about the lawns in the sunshine, saw him come careering past, making heavy weather of it, and smiled in salute; Shiela on a rustic ladder, pruning-knife in hand, gazed over her garden wall until the woods swallowed rotund rider and steed.  As she turned to descend, her glance fell upon Hamil who was crossing the lawn directly below.  For a moment they looked at each other without sign of recognition; then scarcely aware of what she did she made him a carelessly gay salute with her pruning-knife, clinging to the ladder with the other hand in sheer fear of falling, so suddenly unsteady her limbs and body.