le
he went across to Whelen's livery stable to get a carriage, Mrs. Holt
remarked to Honora:

"Mr. Brent is a fascinating man, my dear."

"I am so glad that you appreciate him," exclaimed Honora.

"And a most dangerous one," continued Mrs. Holt. "He has probably, in
his day, disturbed the peace of mind of a great many young women. Not
that I haven't the highest confidence in you, Honora, but honesty forces
me to confess that you are young and pleasure-loving, and a little
heedless. And the atmosphere in which you live is not likely to correct
those tendencies. If you will take my advice, you will not see too much
of Mr. Trixton Brent when your husband is not present."

Indeed, as to the probable effect of this incident on the relations
between Mr. Brent and herself Honora was wholly in the dark. Although,
from her point of view, what she had done had been amply justified by
the plea of self-defence, it could not be expected that he would accept
it in the same spirit. The apparent pleasure he had taken in the present
situation, once his amazement had been overcome, profoundly puzzled her.

He returned in a few minutes with the carriage and driver, and they
started off. Brent sat in front, and Honora explained to Mrs. Holt the
appearance of the various places by daylight, and the names of their
owners. The elderly lady looked with considerable interest at the
blazing lights of the Club, with the same sensations she would no doubt
have had if she had been suddenly set down within the Moulin Rouge.
Shortly afterwards they turned in at the gate of "The Brackens." The
light streamed across the porch and driveway, and the sound of music
floated out of the open windows. Within, the figure of Mrs. Barclay
could be seen; she was singing vaudeville songs at the piano. Mrs.
Holt's lips were tightly shut as she descended and made her way up the
steps.

"I hope you'll come in,", said Honora to Trixton Brent, in a low voice.

"Come in!" he replied, "I wouldn't miss it for ten thousand dollars."

Mrs. Holt was the first of the three to appear at the door of the
drawing-room, and Mrs. Barclay caught sight of her, and stopped in the
middle of a bar, with her mouth open. Some of the guests had left. A
table in the corner, where Lula Chandos had insisted on playing bridge,
was covered with scattered cards and some bills, a decanter of whiskey,
two soda bottles, and two glasses. The blue curling smoke from Mrs.
Chandos' cigarette m