The scene was very animated. The sun shone hotly upon the white track and the tramped infield and the crowds of carriages and horsemen. The women wore their gayest dresses, and in those days men were not confined to sombre black, and claret-coloured coats and blue coats and bottle-green coats were common enough. Skelton did not wholly devote himself to Sylvia, although Lewis still kept his place opposite her, but went about shaking hands with the men and making himself unusually agreeable to the women. In spite of the general knowledge that Skelton would lose the main part of his fortune if he married again, he was still an object of interest to the feminine contingent, who knew that Skelton was a good deal of a man whether he had a great fortune or not. He never went into the society of women, though, that he did not feel that bond of the dead woman upon his liberty. He loved his liberty so dearly, that not even that splendid fortune could wholly make up for it; he wanted all of the power of money, but he wanted to be as free as other men were; and as it was, he was not free, but a slave. And he had so much, that a crumpled rose-leaf troubled him. He could have made Lewis Pryor his heir, and he could have married Sylvia Shapleigh and have been rich and happy at Deerchase, but that would involve putting a stain upon Lewis; and that was the worst thing in the world except one--letting the Blairs have the money. But some day it must come; and he caught himself debating, in the intervals of talk with men and women, that, after all, he might not make a bad exchange--his fortune for Sylvia. As a matter of fact, his money, beyond a certain expenditure, did him very little good. He had all the books he wanted--more than were good for him, he sometimes suspected. He had some pictures and curios, but in those days the art of collecting was practically unknown. Of course, money implied a mastery of conditions, and that was the breath of his nostrils; but conditions could be mastered with less money than he had. If only Lewis could be spared the shame awaiting him! Skelton’s eye sought him occasionally, as he still sat in the Shapleighs’ barouche. Sylvia looked lovely to him then because she was so sweet to Lewis. Mrs. Blair, too, was watched by Skelton, and he was forced to admire her perfectly indomitable pluck. It was far superior to her husband’s, who, after a brave effort to appear unconcerned as the saddling bell rung in the last race, finally dashed off, and, jumping his horse over the fence, disappeared amid the crowd of men in the paddock. Elizabeth gave a quick glance around, and for an instant a sort of anguish appeared in her expressive eyes. But in the next moment she was again easy, graceful, unconcerned. One would have thought it a friendly match between her boy and Lewis Pryor on their ponies. Lewis had then disappeared, of course, but by some odd chance Skelton was close to Mrs. Blair. He saw that she was in a