“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?” she demanded.

“That’s rather a big order, isn’t it?” he said.

“I’m perfectly serious,” continued Honora, slowly.

“I’d really like to know.”

“Before I begin on the somewhat lengthy list of your qualities,” he replied, smiling, “may I ask why you’d like to know?”

“Yes,” she said quickly.  “I’d like to know because I think you’ve misjudged me.  I was really more angry than you have any idea of at the manner in which you talked to Howard.  And did you seriously suppose that I was in earnest when we spoke about your assistance in persuading him to take the house?”

He laughed.

“You are either the cleverest woman in the world,” he declared, “or else you oughtn’t to be out without a guardian.  And no judge in possession of his five senses would appoint your husband.”

Indignant as she was, she could not resist smiling.  There was something in the way Brent made such remarks that fascinated her.

“I shouldn’t call you precisely eligible, either,” she retorted.

He laughed again.  But his eyes made her vaguely uneasy.

“Are these harsh words the reward for my charity? he asked.