isive engagement, he routed that indignant
subaltern; and with a quiet assurance which by no means displeased
her, took and kept possession of Mrs Desmond for the remainder of the
afternoon.

That evening he enjoyed his after-dinner cigar as he had not enjoyed
it for many weeks. Mrs Desmond was obviously tired of her pretty
pathetic pose; and he intended to avail himself to the utmost of her
rebound towards lightheartedness. He flattered himself that he read
her like an open book; that she would be as wax in his hands if he
chose to push his advantage. But for all his acuteness, he failed to
detect the one good grain hid in a bushel of chaff; or to perceive
that it was not indifference, but the very burden of her anxiety, that
drove Evelyn to seek distraction in the form of any amusement lying
near to her hand.

Letters from the Samana were few and brief. The last ones had brought
news that the expedition seemed likely to prove a more serious affair
than had been anticipated. Unknown to Honor, Evelyn cried herself to
sleep that night, and awoke to the decision that she would not be so
foolishly unhappy any more. She would shut her eyes to the haunting
horrors, and forget. Theo had forbidden her to make herself too
miserable. Why should she not obey him? And she proceeded to do so in
her own equivocal fashion.

After the first effort it was fatally easy to slip back into the old
habit of accepting Kresney's companionship, and his frequent
invitations to the house;--fatally easy to slip even a few degrees
farther without the smallest suspicion of his hand on the reins. She
took to riding with him--sometimes in the early mornings, sometimes in
the evenings; and these leisurely rides--for Evelyn was no
horsewoman--suited Kresney's taste infinitely better than tennis. By
cautious degrees they increased in frequency and duration; till it
became evident to the least observant that little Mrs Desmond was
consoling herself to good purpose.

Honor watched the new trend of events with suppressed wrath and
disgust. That a woman who had won the love of Theo Desmond should
descend, even for passing amusement, upon such a travesty of manhood,
roused in her a bitterness of rebellion which she had no right to
feel; but which, being only human, she could not altogether banish
from her heart. Nor were matters made easier by Frank Olliver's
periodical outbursts on the subject. The hot-headed Irishwoman had a
large share of the unreas