It was one of the few sunny afternoons in a summer that was the very abomination of desolation, and Carlton, who looked very brown and well, was clearly glad to be back in the world--his world, that never enthused, or got excited, or asked questions, but took everything for granted in its own delightful way. He liked its indifference to the non-essentials of social intercourse, its tranquility and spacious forgiving humours, its freedom from conventions, and disdain for little things--yes, with all its charms and vices, English society alone had the art of life. Even Rensslaer, who was a cosmopolitan in his tastes and habits, had once admitted to Carlton that he had made his home in England because, as he frankly confessed, London had his heart. "When I am here, I always feel that I am at the centre of things--right at the heart of all there's happening," he said. "You don't feel this in any other city in the world--but London is the whole world itself, squeezed into a few square miles." Gay, if she were nervous, did not suffer it to appear, but chaffed Carlton mercilessly about his rheumatism, inquiring if he had found its cure at the Aix gaming tables, and in those _dolce far niente_ drives on the old Roman roads that she herself adored. He laughed, looking very happy, and very handsome--indeed the quartette were in such high spirits, and of such conspicuous good looks, as to attract an unusual amount of attention, Gay heard one woman murmur in passing them, "three angels--and an Immortal," the latter with a glance at Chris that sent a pang to her heart. Carlton was genuinely shocked at Chris's looks (for which Gay was almost as much responsible as his accident), but delighted to find that there was no understanding between the two. Daily during his stay abroad he had expected to hear the news of their engagement, and if nothing had happened in all these weeks, well, the presumption was, that nothing would. It wanted a good week to the Horse Show; town was at its very best, and Gay, who was always restless now, gave her whole mind to frivolity, greatly to Lossie's delight. The four young people filled the days, and the greater part of their nights, with amusements of every kind, so that, as the Professor declared, Gay only used her house to sleep in, seldom to feed. With two of the party happy, for Lossie was in triumphant beauty, and quite satisfied at the way things were going, and the other two playing up brilliantly, they made the gayest possible quartette, and more than once, either as host or guest, Rensslaer joined them, to Gay's manifest pleasure. It was not surprising that Carlton quite wrongly attributed Gay's welcome change of front about trotting, to Rensslaer's influence, for although that sport was the one tabooed subject with them all, he knew from Tugwood, who had insisted on keeping him well posted, that she seldom took the trouble to see her horses run now.