in a fur coat and complaining in a masterful tone of the unpunctuality of
his fly. A handsome fellow, Gifford was constrained to acknowledge, and
of a strong, positive character; the type of man, he thought, who could
be very fascinating to women--and very brutal.

He dropped his rather bullying manner as he caught sight of the two
friends; and, noticing Gifford's morning clothes, made a casually
sympathetic remark on his bad luck.

"Oh, I shall come on when my things arrive, which ought to be soon,"
Gifford responded coldly, disliking the man and his rather obvious
insincerity.

"We might have driven over together," Henshaw said, addressing
Kelson. "But I hardly cared to propose it after the line you took at
the station."

There was an unpleasant curl of the lip as he spoke the words almost
vindictively, as though with intent to put Kelson in the wrong.

But his sneer had no effect on the ex-Cavalryman.

"I am driving over in my own trap," he replied coolly, ignoring the
other's intent. "You will be a good deal more comfortable in a closed
carriage."

"Decidedly," Henshaw returned with a laugh. "I am not so fond of an east
wind as to get more of it than can be helped. And, after all, it is best
to go independently to an affair of this sort. One may get bored and want
to leave early."

Kelson nodded with a grim appreciation of the man's trick of argument,
and went out to his waiting dog-cart. Henshaw's fly drove up as Gifford
turned back from the door.

"I suppose we shall see you towards midnight," he said lightly as he
passed Gifford, his tone clearly suggesting his utter indifference in
the matter.

"I dare say," Gifford replied, and as he went upstairs he heard an
order given for "Mr. Henshaw's fire in number 9 to be kept up against
his return."

Alone in the oak-panelled sitting-room Gifford settled down to wait for
his clothes. He skimmed through several picture-papers that were lying
about, and then took up a novel. But a restless fit was on him, and he
could not settle down to read. He threw aside the book and began thinking
of the old property which his uncle had muddled away, and recalling the
happy times he had spent there from his schooldays onwards. Memories of
the rambling old house and its park crowded upon him. By force of one
circumstance or another he had not been there for nearly ten years, and a
great impatience to see it again took hold of him. He looked at the
clock. At the best, s