After dinner she was obliged to set him straight in a little matter. They were sitting on the terrace and he had thrown away his half-smoked cigarette, an act in itself significant. She had been listening patiently, from sheer habit and indifference, to what he was saying, but at last she revolted. “Don't! You shall not sav such things to me. I am not your kind, I fancy, Mr. Odwell,” she said. “I don't know why you should tell me of your chorus-girl friends--of your suppers and all that. I don't care to hear of them and I don't intend that you shall use me as a subject of illustration. I am going upstairs.” “Oh, come now, that's rather rough, just as we were getting on so well. All the fellows do the same--” “I know. You need not tell me. And you all have wives at home, too,” with intense scorn. “Now, that's where you wrong us. They're _not_ at home, you know. That's just it.” “Never mind, Mr. Odwell; I'm going in.” She left him and entered the house. For a minute or two he looked after her in wonder, and then, softly whistling, made his way over to where De Peyton, through some oversight, was talking to his own wife. De Peyton unceremoniously announced that he was going upstairs to write a letter. Penelope, flushed with disgust and humiliation, drew near a crowd of men and women in the long living-room. Her brother was haranguing the assemblage, standing forth among them like an unconquered bantam. In spite of herself, she felt a wave of shame and pity creep over her as she looked at him. “Barminster says the fellow ran when he saw him to-day,” his lordship was saying. “Can't Tompkins and his men keep that man off my land?” demanded Lady Bazel-hurst Every one took note of the pronoun. Her ladyship's temples seemed to narrow with hatred. Bazelhurst had told the men privately that she was passing sleepless nights in order to “hate that fellow Shaw” to her full capacity. “My dear, I have given positive orders to Tompkins and he swears he'll carry them out,” said he hastily. “I suppose Tompkins is to throw him into the river again.” “He is to shoot that fellow Shaw if he does n't keep off our land. I've had enough of it. They say he rode his confounded plough horse all over the west end the other day.” Penelope smiled reflectively. “Trampled the new fern beds out of existence and all that. Hang him, Tompkins will get him if he persists. He has told the men to take a shot at the rascal on sight. Tompkins doesn't love him, you know.” Penelope went her way laughing and--forgot the danger that threatened Randolph Shaw. The next morning, quite early, she was off for a canter. Some magnetic force drew her toward that obliterated line in the roadway. Almost as she came up to it and stopped, Randolph Shaw rode down the hillside through the trees and drew rein directly opposite, the noses of their horses almost touching. With a smile he gave the military salute even as she gasped in self-conscious dismay.