But the spirit of perversity that had seized Chris when he last dined at Connaught Square throve apace, and he made no effort to dislodge it; whatever he did, or did not do, he could not please Gay. He had deliberately talked shooting to her, that he might keep his tongue off the raptures of admiration into which Rensslaer's stable had plunged him, and that was wrong--like everything else. Well, if she wanted a lady-like fool, who took no risks, to play round with--for thus he rudely designated Carlton--she had better take him, and the sooner the better. Chris's usual good manners were going by the board under the strain of mingled ill-health, and mental irritation combined, and altogether he was in a very bad way indeed, when on the day before the Horse Show, he went to see Aunt Lavinia, whom he had somewhat neglected since his recovery. "Dear boy!" she exclaimed in delight as she got up from her writing-table, "how nice you look, and how _lean_!"--for she could not abide fat on a man--and she kissed him fondly. Chris's bright hair, his smile, and general smartness stood him in excellent stead on all occasions when he wished to hide his real feelings, but Lavinia knew him very well, and after some talk, and the transference of a small cheque to her for her poor, the little lady roundly taxed him with having something on his mind. "Too much money," said Chris, and chuckled. "Are you going to Olympia? We have all been buying tickets on our own--Rensslaer, Mackrell, Bulteel, and myself--and it seems to me, between us all, we can live there the whole week if we like, with intervals for food and sleep." "It's out of my line, Laddie," she said, "even if it did not mean a new frock--which would make me miserable. But it will be a pretty sight. Is it because you are not riding, you have the hump?" she added, looking at him shrewdly. "Of course I should like it," said Chris, "but there are lots of other fellows who will do it better, of course." "It seems to be a rule of life," she said, "that one can only be happy at the cost of others' unhappiness--and your disappointment probably means that Gay is happy." "I think it would take a lot to make her that nowadays," he said drily. "But isn't it a pretty rotten world when such a state of things prevails, that we are afraid to even admit that we are happy--and rub a piece of wood to give our admission the lie?" "There are so many ways of happiness," she said, "but practically only one of misery. There's self-control, Laddie"--she hesitated, and glanced at the boy's handsome head, a little bent already in anticipation of rebuke--"what is life, after all, but discipline?" Chris thought that Rensslaer, as well as Gay, must have been getting at her, and turned restive--there seemed no comfort for him anywhere. "Why don't you say all this to Mackrell? He deserves it quite as much as I do. He never does anything but what he likes; he doesn't even break his bones."