Frances never answered, she only held on to him a little tighter. "Frances, you know, since--" "Starlight did behave dreadfully that time," she assented. "Starlight!" "Suppose I ask Mr. Payne to let me have a mount?" "Daughter," the father was speaking quite sternly, "you know I told you I never wanted you to ride behind the hounds again." There was dead silence. Frances got to her feet and went over to the mantelpiece, eyes downcast, red mouth down-curved. "You might drive out to the meet," began her father. A flash of her eyes answered him. "I'll order the trap right now!" she said quickly. "Now, it's late!" began the professor, not liking to be taken so literally at his word. "I don't think there is any one at the stables." "Mr. Payne telephoned from there; I told him to wait a moment. I'll try again." The professor listened anxiously to the whir and then to the monologue in the hall. "Is Mr. Carver there? Yes! So glad!" and then, after a minute's wait, "Can you send Starlight and the trap up by seven? _Seven?_ Yes! And Mr. Carver, please see that he is hitched up strongly, will you?" She hung up the receiver. At the foot of the stairs she paused. "You don't mind if I drive along the road and follow them a little if I can, do you?" she asked laughingly. The professor ran his hand over his perplexed face and picked up his book; he had no answer. At any rate he felt he had had his say about young Lawson and so he must not be too severe about this. He little knew he had given that young man the very clue he needed: for some hour of that night when the stars grew pale and the gay party in Lawson's room was breaking up, one of the men vowed he must have an hour's sleep to steady his nerves for the fox-hunt to-morrow; it was Saturday, and-- "Fox-hunt," cried Lawson. "Yes; want to go? Meet me at the stables!" and it was arranged then and there. The fox-hunt was sufficient, but Lawson's last waking thoughts were the professor's words, spoken carelessly that evening, "Frances hasn't missed a fox-hunt for years." III At seven o'clock Frances was warming her cold fingers over Susan's red-hot stove and making some show of drinking the coffee and eating the toasted roll the old darkey, with much grumbling, had gotten ready. "Don't see what yuh wants to go trapsin' off for dis time o' day, nohow, ridin' arter dem hounds. Dey's low down dogs, anyhow; always did 'spise er houn' ebin ef 'tis chasin' er fox." "Pshaw, Susan, you know you don't know anything about it!" bantered Frances.