well-governed--though with absolutism.

The band was blaring something popular and reminiscent of the winter's
gayeties, but the brasses gave their notes to the May air, and the May
air smoothed and melted them into softness. Duska's eyes were fixed on
the green turf of the infield where several sentinel trees pointed
into the blue.

Mr. Walter Bellton, having accomplished the marvelous feat of escaping
from the bookmaker's maelstrom with the immaculateness of his personal
appearance intact, sauntered up to drop somewhat languidly into a
chair.

"When one returns in triumph," he commented, "one should have chaplets
of bay and arches to walk under. It looks to me as though the
reception-committee has not been on the job."

Sarah Preston raised a face shrouded in gravity. Her voice was
velvety, but Bellton caught its undernote of ridicule.

"I render unto Caesar those things that are Caesar's--but what is
your latest triumph?" She put her question innocently. "Did you win a
bet?"

If Mr. Bellton's quick-flashing smile was an acknowledgment of the
thrust at his somewhat notorious self-appraisement, his manner at
least remained imperturbably complacent.

"I was not clamoring for my own just dues," he explained, with
modesty. "For myself, I shall be satisfied with an unostentatious
tablet in bronze when I'm no longer with you in the flesh. In this
instance I was speaking for another."

He did not hasten to announce the name of the other. In even the
little things of life, this gentleman calculated to a nicety dramatic
values and effects. Just as a public speaker in nominating a candidate
works up to a climax of eulogy, and pauses to let his hearers shout,
"Name him! Name your man!" so Mr. Bellton paused, waiting for someone
to ask of whom he spoke.

It was little Miss Buford who did so with the debutante's legitimate
interest in the possibility of fresh conquest.

"And who has returned in triumph?"

"George Steele."

Sarah Preston arched her brows in mild interest.

"So, the wanderer is home! I had the idea he was painting masterpieces
in the _Quartier Latin_, or wandering about with a sketching easel in
southern Spain."

"Nevertheless, he is back," affirmed the man, "and he has brought with
him an even greater celebrity than himself--a painter of international
reputation, it would seem. I met them a few moments ago in the
paddock, and Steele intimated that they would shortly arrive to lay
their joint la