The Professor was still made exquisitely comfortable by his sister, and pursued the selfish tenor of his way. Lossie reigned, _quite_ good, and _quite_ happy, the triumphantly lovely mistress of the house in Norfolk Street, and divers other places, and Carlton, if not happy, was at least resigned, and very proud of her. Rensslaer pursued his various hobbies with his usual quiet persistence, George Conant had started a racing stable, and was squandering the Elkins' thousands at a great rate, but all that Gay ever heard of Chris now, was gleaned from the papers. He had been devoted to Lavinia, as usual, when they met at the wedding, but had not since been near her, and she thought his keeping away a good sign, and a proof that he was ashamed of his own stiff-neckedness. But Gay knew that by her failure in courage at a critical moment of her life she had lost him, and that he would give her no second chance. Oh, what was honour, what was duty, compared with love, when love had called her with Chris's voice as it had done that morning? There must be some coward blot in her, some bad strain of blood that prevented her being true to herself ... in pluck, in love, in loyalty alike, she had failed ... she had only to say to Carlton, "It is all a mistake; I accepted you in a fit of pique--under a misunderstanding," but she had humiliated Chris alike as a man and a lover in the presence of his rival, and a man of the most sensitive pride, he could not forgive her. He had not turned his back on her when she committed her mad escapade, got herself talked about; angry as he was with her, he had not shown it, only remonstrated quietly with her, and in vain. He had put up with all her tempers without a murmur; his lovely disposition had never once been at fault, or broken down under the strain. Finally, he had been prepared to give up for her sake the profession he so deeply loved, and she had thrown his renunciation back in his face; if he met with a fatal accident, she alone would be responsible for it. She held her head as high as ever, and only Carlton and Lavinia guessed what she suffered, but with the end of the steeplechase season, relief came, and she drew a free breath. For six months at least, Chris would be safe, and as in the nature of things, he was bound to be oftener in town, it was inevitable that sooner or later they must meet. And at last they did. One day they passed each other close in Piccadilly, Gay driving herself, and Chris in a hansom with the Mrs. Guest who had been at Lossie's wedding. They produced a flashing impression of youth, gaiety, and good looks, and so completely wrapped up in each other were they, that they did not even see Gay, who drove on with the furies in her heart.