A red flush showed under Carlton's dark skin, and he looked at Lossie sharply, suspecting her of playing her own game, but if there is one thing more than another that confounds a man, it is the purity of the outline of a woman's cheek, as opposed to the deep artifice and dissimulation of her soul. "They are _à tort et à travers_!" he exclaimed. "It's only because there is no steeplechasing on, and Hannen is at a loose end, that he sticks it." "She would marry him to-morrow if he would give up racing," said Lossie, "and he won't. Neither will give way--and there's the rub. And she's a fool," she added softly, "for a woman who loves, loves to submit." "Gay won't," said Carlton, as he returned Lossie's gaze full. Good Heavens! how lovely she was, with her forget-me-not eyes, and silky masses of blue-black hair, framed in a wonderful hat and gown of royal purplish-blue chiffon, that would have killed most women. He wondered that Rensslaer had passed her by for Gay; for himself, of course, it was different--he knew Gay's good qualities so well, her disposition inside out. "Gay has a will of her own," he said. "And a heart," said Lossie significantly, "that runs away with her head. You see, Chris looks so ill, and you so--so provokingly _well_--" Her gaze lingered on his face warmly like a caress, and indeed he was very good to look at. "There's something awfully maternal about Gay--not to say 'sloppy'--wanting to help everyone, like silly Aunt Lavinia, you know. It makes you so cheap," she addedly rashly, and saw her mistake when Carlton, who liked Lavinia--as who did not?--frowned, and suggested that they should join the others. They found them silently looking on at a game of polo--if there were a horse anywhere near, Chris gravitated naturally towards it--and for a while they discussed the players and the cattle. "But Mr. Hannen will see better at Elsinore to-morrow," Gay said to Carlton a little nervously. Each day, each hour seemed to bring nearer to her the presentation of that "little bill," and there was a dangerous spark in his eye that foretold trouble in the near future. Indeed, as they stood quietly chatting about the wonders of Elsinore, Carlton suddenly realised that Lossie had told him the truth, and with a mad, hot rush of jealousy, that for the moment blinded him to all sense of honour, he inly swore that he would obtain Gay at all hazards, her love for Chris notwithstanding, using the steeplechase difficulty as a means of accomplishing his desires. Lossie, reading him like a book, felt her heart sink. Yet, after all, would it not be better when he had put his fate to the touch, and realised once for all that Gay was not for him? He would take it badly--very badly. He would go away again, but some day he would come back--and even if he knew that she loved him, Lossie had not committed the one sin that to a man is unpardonable, the sin of boring him. CHAPTER XXVII A _MODUS VIVENDI_