sat next to Susan, who
maintained her usual maidenly silence, but Honora, from time to time,
and as though by accident, caught his eye. Even Mr. Holt, when not
munching his dried bread, was tempted to make some inquiries about the
market.

"So far as I am concerned," Mrs. Holt announced suddenly, "nothing can
convince me that it is not gambling."

"My dear Elvira!" protested Mr. Holt.

"I can't help it," said that lady, stoutly; "I'm old-fashioned, I
suppose. But it seems to me like legalized gambling."

Mr. Spence took this somewhat severe arraignment of his career in
admirable good nature. And if these be such a thing as an implied wink,
Honora received one as he proceeded to explain what he was pleased to
call the bona-fide nature of the transactions of Dallam and Spence.

A discussion ensued in which, to her surprise, even the ordinarily
taciturn Joshua took a part, and maintained that the buying and selling
of blooded stock was equally gambling. To this his father laughingly
agreed. The Vicomte, who sat on Mrs. Holt's right, and who apparently
was determined not to suffer a total eclipse without a struggle,
gallantly and unexpectedly came to his hostess' rescue, though she
treated him as a doubtful ally. This was because he declared with
engaging frankness that in France the young men of his monde had a
jeunesse: he, who spoke to them, had gambled; everybody gambled in
France, where it was regarded as an innocent amusement. He had friends
on the Bourse, and he could see no difference in principle between
betting on the red at Monte Carlo and the rise and fall of the shares of
la Compagnie des Metaux, for example. After completing his argument,
he glanced triumphantly about the table, until his restless black
eyes encountered Honora's, seemingly seeking a verdict. She smiled
impartially.

The subject of finance lasted through the dinner, and the Vicomte
proclaimed himself amazed with the evidences of wealth which confronted
him on every side in this marvellous country. And once, when he was at a
loss for a word, Honora astonished and enchanted him by supplying it.

"Ah, Mademoiselle," he exclaimed, "I was sure when I first beheld you
that you spoke my language! And with such an accent!"

"I have studied it all my life, Vicomte," she said, modestly, "and I had
the honour to be born in your country. I have always wished to see it
again."

Monsieur de Toqueville ventured the fervent hope that her wish might