Diana, riding up the hill through clustered masses of rhododendrons, was happily indifferent to Jacob at her bridle rein. Jacob was useful, rather pleasant to talk to, and paid her the constant homage of undisguised admiration. After all, it was pleasant to be with one to whom she meant so much. She could hold him lightly at arm’s length, for Jacob was too wise to hazard all for nothing, yet she was aware that her lightest wish had its weight. It was only when he tried to assume the right of an elder brother to meddle with her affairs, as he had at Kitty Broughton’s ball, that she resented his interference. Jacob had, indeed, slipped into her ways with a tame-cattiness which, no matter how it accorded with his sleek appearance, was in direct contradiction to the character behind the mask. Diana, flouting him in her girlish coquetry, was but sowing the wind; if she married him later, she would reap the whirlwind, yet half her relations desired it. Thus wisely does the outsider plan a life. Diana stopped abruptly and, bending from the saddle, gathered a large cluster of pink rhododendrons; the dew was on them still and it sparkled in the sunshine. “Why didn’t you let me break it for you?” Jacob asked mildly; “sometime when you bend that way from your saddle you’ll lose your balance and--” “Take a cropper,” said Diana. “I hope I shan’t break my nose.” “Or your head, which would mean my heart,” he retorted. She laughed; she was very charming when she laughed and, perhaps, she knew it. Diana was very human. “Which is harder than my head,” she said; “in fact, I have heard something of the nether millstone.” “You would find it very brittle if you turned the cold shoulder,” said Jacob calmly, flicking the young shrubs with his crop. “A piece of broken crockery,” mocked Diana; “you will have it mended when I marry some one else.” “On the contrary,” he retorted, unmoved, “to quote the romancer: ‘_Je vais me fich’ à l’eau._’” “What?” she questioned, with lifted brows. “It’s French,” he explained. “So I supposed,” replied Diana, “but not as I learned it.” “Nevertheless it is forcible,” said Jacob; “it means, inelegantly, that I will pitch myself into the river.” “Inelegant and untruthful then,” said she. “I got it from a book,” he said, “a recent one, and famous. I am quoting the modern novelists.” They had reached the crest of a low ridge, and through a growth of red cedars could see the flash and leap of the river. Diana drew rein and turned her face fully toward her companion. “Jacob,” she said abruptly, “why did you give all that money to Juniper?” Jacob smiled, his eyelids drooping; in the sunshine his clear smooth skin looked waxy, as though it would take the impression of a finger and keep it. “There’s an instance of my heart, Diana,” he said sententiously. She studied him attentively. “Was it altogether that?” she demanded, the straight line of her brows slightly contracted.