If you can give it a gentler name than
insolence I would be glad--for your sake, Mrs. Fane. I only know that
you have spoiled my ride, spoiled the day for me, hurt me, humiliated
me, and awakened, not curiosity, not suspicion, but the horror of it, in
me. You did it once before--at the Minsters' dance; not, perhaps, that
you deliberately meant to; but you did it. And your subject was then, as
it is now, Captain Selwyn--my friend--"

Her voice became unsteady again and her mouth curved; but she held her
head high and her eyes were as fearlessly direct as a child's.

"And now," she said calmly, "you know where I stand and what I will not
stand. Natural deference to an older woman, the natural self-distrust of
a girl in the presence of social experience--and under its protection as
she had a right to suppose--prevented me from checking you when your
conversation became distasteful. You, perhaps, mistook my reticence for
acquiescence; and you were mistaken. I am still quite willing to remain
on agreeable terms with you, if you wish, and to forget what you have
done to me this morning."

If Rosamund had anything left to say, or any breath to say it, there
were no indications of it. Never in her flippant existence had she been
so absolutely flattened by any woman. As for this recent graduate from
fudge and olives, she could scarcely realise how utterly and finally she
had been silenced by her. Incredulity, exasperation, amazement had
succeeded each other while Miss Erroll was speaking; chagrin, shame,
helplessness followed as bitter residue. But, in the end, the very
incongruity of the situation came to her aid; for Rosamund very easily
fell a prey to the absurd--even when the amusement was furnished at her
own expense; and a keen sense of the ridiculous had more than once saved
her dainty skirts from a rumpling that her modesty perhaps might have
forgiven.

"I'm certainly a little beast," she said impulsively, "but I really do
like you. Will you forgive?"

No genuine appeal to the young girl's generosity had ever been in vain;
she forgave almost as easily as she breathed. Even now in the flush of
just resentment it was not hard for her to forgive; she hesitated only
in order to adjust matters in her own mind.

Mrs. Fane swung her horse and held out her right hand:

"Is it _pax_, Miss Erroll? I'm really ashamed of myself. Won't you
forgive me?"

"Yes," said the young girl, laying her gloved hand on Rosamund's very
l