that _mean_."

Trenby was silent again for a moment. Then he asked suddenly:

"What would you do if your husband hunted?"

"Put up with it, I suppose, just as I should put up with his other
faults--if I loved him."

Roger made no answer but quickened the speed of the car, letting her
race over the level surface of the road, and when next he spoke it was
on some quite other topic.

Half an hour later a solid-looking grey house, built in the substantial
Georgian fashion and surrounded by trees, came into view. Roger slowed
up as the car passed the gates which guarded the entrance to the drive.

"That's Trenby Hall," he said. And Nan was conscious of an impishly
amused feeling that just so might Noah, when the Flood began, have
announced: "That's my Ark.'"

"You've never been over yet," continued Roger. "But I want you to come
one day. I should like you to meet my mother."

A queer little dart of fear shot through her as he spoke.

She felt as though she were being gradually hemmed in.

"It looks a beautiful place," she answered conventionally, though
inwardly thinking how she would loathe to live in a solid, square
mansion of that type, prosaically dull and shut away from the world by
enclosing woods.

Roger looked pleased.

"Yes, it's a fine old place," he said. "Now for the kennels."

Nan breathed a sigh of relief. She had had one instant of anxiety lest
he should suggest that, instead of lunching, as arranged, from the
picnic basket safely bestowed in the back of the car, they should lunch
at the Hall.

Another fifteen minutes brought them to the kennels, Denman, the first
whip, meeting them at the gates. He touched his hat and threw a keen
glance at Nan. The Master of the Trevithick was not in the habit of
bringing ladies to see the kennels, and the whip and his wife had
discussed the matter very fully over their supper the previous evening,
trying to guess what it might portend. "A new mistress up at the 'All,
I shouldn't wonder," asserted Mrs. Denman confidently.

"Hounds all fit, Denman?" asked Trenby in quick, authoritative tones.

"Yes, sir. All 'cept 'Wrangler there--'e's still a bit stiff on that
near hind leg he sprained."

As he spoke, he held open the gate for Nan to pass in, and she glanced
round with lively interest. A flagged path ran straight ahead,
dividing the large paved enclosure reserved for youngsters from the
iron-fenced yards inhabited by the older hounds of the p