ning, Prince," she said, "for you to sit
there dreaming so long and so earnestly. Come in to breakfast. Every one
is down, for a wonder."

"Breakfast, by all means," he answered, coming blithely up the broad
steps. "You are going to ride this morning?"

"I suppose we all are, more or less," she answered. "It is our hunt
steeplechases, you know. Poor Grace is in there nearly sobbing her
eyes out. Captain Chalmers has thrown her over. Lady Barbarity--that's
Grace's favorite mare, and her entry for the cup--turned awkward with
him yesterday, and he won't have anything more to do with her."

"From your tone," he remarked, pushing open the French windows, "I
gather that this is a tragedy. I, unfortunately, do not understand."

"You should ask Grace herself," Penelope said. "There she is."

Lady Grace looked round from her place at the head of the breakfast
table.

"Come and sympathize with me, Prince," she cried. "For weeks I have been
fancying myself the proud possessor of the hunt cup. Now that horrid
man, Captain Chalmers, has thrown me over at the last moment. He refuses
to ride my mare because she was a little fractious yesterday."

"It is a great misfortune," the Prince said in a tone of polite regret,
"but surely it is not irreparable? There must be others--why not your
own groom?"

A smile went round the table. The Duke hastened to explain.

"The race is for gentlemen riders only," he said. "The horses have to
be the property of members of the hunt. There would be no difficulty, of
course, in finding a substitute for Captain Chalmers, but the race
takes place this morning, and I am afraid, with all due respect to my
daughter, that her mare hasn't the best of reputations."

"I won't have a word said against Lady Barbarity," Lady Grace declared.
"Captain Chalmers is a good horseman, of course but for a lightweight he
has the worst hands I ever knew."

"But surely amongst your immediate friends there must be many others,"
the Prince said. "Sir Charles, for instance?"

"Charlie is riding his own horse," Lady Grace answered. "He hasn't the
ghost of a chance, but, of course, he won't give it up."

"Not I!" Somerfield answered, gorgeous in pink coat and riding breeches.
"My old horse may not be fast, but he can go the course, and I'm none
too certain of the others. Some of those hurdles'll take a bit of
doing."

"It is a shame," the Prince remarked, "that you should be disappointed,
Lady Grace. Would they l