Brent turned to his coachman.

“Put a pair in the victoria right away and drive Mrs. Chandos to Mrs. Darlington’s,” he said.

She looked at him, and her lip quivered.

“You always were the soul of generosity, Trixy, but why the victoria?”

“My dear Lula,” he replied, “if there’s any other carriage you prefer—?”

Honora did not hear the answer, which at any rate was scarcely audible.  She moved away, and her eyes continued to follow Vercingetorix as he trotted about the tan-bark after a groom.  And presently she was aware that Trixton Brent was standing beside her.

“What do you think of him?” he asked.

“He’s adorable,” declared Honora.  Would you like to try him?”

“Oh—­might I?  Sometime?”

“Why not to-day—­now?” he said.  “I’ll send him over to your house and have your saddle put on him.”

Before Honora could protest Mrs. Chandos came forward.

“It’s awfully sweet of you, Trixy, to offer to send me to Fanny’s, but Warry says he will drive me over.  Good-by, my dear,” she added, holding out her hand to Honora.

“I hope you enjoy your ride.”

Mr. Trowbridge’s phaeton was brought up, Brent helped Mrs. Chandos in, and stood for a moment gazing after her.  Amusement was still in his eyes as he turned to Honora.

“Poor Lula!” he said.  “Most women could have done it better than that —­couldn’t they?”

“I think you were horrid to her,” exclaimed Honora, indignantly.  “It wouldn’t have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington’s.”

It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at which they had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived.

“Oh, yes, it would hurt me,” said he.  “I’d rather spend a day in jail than drive with Lula in that frame of mind.  Tender reproaches, and all that sort of thing, you know although I can’t believe you ever indulge in them.  Don’t,” he added.

In spite of the fact that she was up in arms for her sex, Honora smiled.

“Do you know,” she said slowly, “I’m beginning to think you are a brute.”

“That’s encouraging,” he replied.

“And fickle.”

“Still more encouraging.  Most men are fickle.  We’re predatory animals.”

“It’s just as well that I am warned,” said Honora.  She raised her parasol and picked up her skirts and shot him a look.  Although he did not resemble in feature the great if unscrupulous Emperor of the French, he reminded her now of a picture she had once seen of Napoleon and a lady; the lady obviously in a little flutter under the Emperor’s scrutiny.  The picture had suggested a probable future for the lady.

“How long will it take you to dress?” he asked.

“To dress for what?”

“To ride with me.”

“I’m not going to ride with you,” she said, and experienced a tingle of satisfaction from his surprise.