he scoring. She was
breathing heavily. There were tears in her eyes--she bit her lips
savagely and glared at the track until they were gone.

Presently he spoke again, in the low, even tone demanded by
circumstances.

"This is a curious meeting, is it not?--quite a flavor of romance!
By-the-way, do you read as many novels as ever?"

She fancied there was mockery in his tone. She remembered how very
frivolous he used to consider her novel-reading. Besides, she resented
the personal tinge. What right had he?

"Almost as many," she answered carelessly.

"I was very intolerant, wasn't I?" he said after a pause. "You thought
so--you were right. You have been happier since you--left me?"

"Yes," she said defiantly, looking straight into his eyes.

"And you do not regret it?"

He bent down a little. His sleeve brushed against her shoulder.
Something in his face arrested the answer she meant to make.

"I--I--did not say that," she murmured faintly.

There was a burst of cheering. The free-for-all horses were being
brought out for the sixth heat. She turned away to watch them. The
scoring began, and seemed likely to have no end. She was tired of it
all. It didn't matter a pin to her whether "Lu-Lu" or "Mascot" won.
What _did_ matter! Had Vanity Fair after all been a satisfying
exchange for love? He _had_ loved her once, and they had been happy at
first. She had never before said, even in her own heart: "I am sorry,"
but--suddenly, she felt his hand on her shoulder, and looked up. Their
eyes met. He stooped and said almost in a whisper:

"Will you come back to me?"

"I don't know," she whispered breathlessly, as one half-fascinated.

"We were both to blame--but I the most. I was too hard on you--I ought
to have made more allowance. We are wiser now both of us. Come back
to me--my wife."

His tone was cold and his face expressionless. It was on her lips to
cry out "No," passionately.

But the slender, scholarly hand on her shoulder was trembling with the
intensity of his repressed emotion. He _did_ care, then. A wild
caprice flashed into her brain. She sprang up.

"See," she cried, "they're off now. This heat will probably decide the
race. If 'Lu-Lu' wins I will not go back to you, if 'Mascot' does I
will. That is my decision."

He turned paler, but bowed in assent. He knew by bitter experience how
unchangeable her whims were, how obstinately she clung to even the
most absurd.

She leaned forward breathless