" she said, between her teeth, "that it is your mission to
padlock me to _that_--in there?"

Lansing turned, following her eyes. She was looking at her husband.

"No," replied Lansing, serenely; "but I shall see that you don't
transfer the padlock to ... _that_, out _there_"--glancing at Coursay on
the lawn.

"Try it," she breathed, and let go of the leader, which flew up in
silvery crinkles, the cast of brightly colored flies dancing in the
sunshine.

"Oh, let him alone," said Lansing, wearily; "all the men in Manhattan
are drivelling about you. Let him go; he's a sorry trophy--and there's
no natural treachery in him; ... it's not in our blood; ... it's too
cheap for us, and we can't help saying so when we're in our right
minds."

There was a little color left in her face when she stood up, her hands
resting on the spiked collars of her dogs. "The trouble with you," she
said, smiling adorably, "is your innate delicacy."

"I know I am brutal," he said, grimly; "let him alone."

She gave him a pretty salutation, crossed the lawn, passed her husband,
who had just ridden up on a powerful sorrel, and called brightly to
Coursay: "Take me fishing, Jack, or I'll yawn my head off my shoulders."

Before Lansing could recover his wits the audacious beauty had stepped
into the canoe at the edge of the lawn, and young Coursay, eager and
radiant, gave a flourish to his paddle, and drove it into the glittering
water.

If Sprowl found anything disturbing to his peace of mind in the
proceeding, he did not betray it. He sat hunched up on his big sorrel,
eyes fixed on the distant clearing, where the white gable-end of
O'Hara's house rose among the trees.

Suddenly he wheeled his mount and galloped off up the river road; the
sun glowed on his broad back, and struck fire on his spurs, then horse
and rider were gone into the green shadows of the woods.

To play spy was not included in Lansing's duties as he understood them.
He gave one disgusted glance after the canoe, shrugged, set fire to the
tobacco in his pipe, and started slowly along the river towards O'Hara's
with a vague idea of lending counsel, aid, and countenance to his
president during the expected interview with Munn.

At the turn of the road he met Major Brent and old Peter, the
head-keeper. The latter stood polishing the barrels of his shot-gun with
a red bandanna; the Major was fuming and wagging his head.

"Doctor!" he called out, when Lansing appeared; "Pet