ood-bye for
the present."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

When the strokes of the horse's hoofs told that he had mounted and was
riding away, Clare could not resist turning to glance back at him. How
well he looked in the saddle, she thought, and then the calm strength of
the almost melancholy face as he talked to her, the easy indifference to
what would have irritated and stung most men, came back to her. This
was an individuality absolutely new to her experience, and one of vivid
interest, so vivid indeed that she began to recognise with a sort of
wonder that she could not get it out of her thoughts. She recalled
their conversation. If he had laid himself out to say exactly the right
thing all through it, he could not have pleased her more, and yet it was
obvious that he was talking perfectly naturally, and without
premeditation--certainly without an idea of pleasing anybody. But--was
she going to make a sort of hero of the man? Well, it certainly began
to look something like it. So when at the breakfast-table Fullerton
remarked--

"Didn't I see you talking to Lamont just now, Clare, over by the Sea
Deep stands?" she felt that the mere question evolved within her quite
an unexpected degree of combativeness.

"Yes, you very probably did," she answered. "We met during my morning
constitutional while you lazy people were snoring. He's very
interesting."

"Is he?"

The tone, savouring of curt incredulity, whipped up the combative
instinct still more, as she answered, with quite unnecessary crispness--

"Certainly. He's got ideas, anyhow. So there's that much interesting
about him, if only for the scarcity of those who have."

"Ideas or not, he funked again yesterday. When Jim Steele wanted him to
take his coat off," sneered Fullerton. Then the accumulated
combativeness broke its barriers and fairly overwhelmed the incautious
sneerer.

"Funked again!" echoed Clare. "I don't believe he ever did such a thing
in his life--no, nor ever could. Because he was too much of a gentleman
to be drawn into a disgusting tap-room brawl to please a drunken rowdy,
you call that funking. Well, I don't, and I shouldn't have the good
opinion I have of Mr Lamont if he had acted otherwise. You forget,
too, that we were all there, and even in Gandela I suppose it's hardly
the correct thing to indulge in prize fights in the presence of ladies."

"Phew!" whistled Fullerton. "So that's the way the cat jump