“How is it,” he asked pleasantly, “that no one I know has your secret of laughter? You laugh with such complete naturalness and enjoyment, and yet it is only a delightful smile accompanied by music. I should not like to say that any lady’s laughter is unmusical, but the smile is shockingly spoilt. Poor Flo, for instance, laughs most deplorably. Many ladies know the difficulty, and never venture on a laugh at all; alas, they grin!” Isabel laughed again, though not quite as before. “What have you to report of the Spanish ladies?” she asked. “Beautiful; some I saw beautiful exceedingly; but their complexion too hot. I seemed to feel the need of fresh air. The northern type is my ideal; faces which remain through a lifetime fresh as a flower, which exhale the coolness of an early summer morning. They are graceful, but I often thought of a certain English lady, who has more natural grace of bearing than any one of them.” He has fixed his look upon her; Isabel tried to make some light response, but her voice failed. “By-the-bye,” he asked, “Flo gave you that message of mine--a message I sent from Seville?” “About the winner of the Two Thousand? Oh yes; I was duly humiliated. How _could_ I have erred in a matter of such moment?” “You remember--there was a wager.” “Was there?” “Certainly. You have not forgotten the terms?” Isabel held her fan by its two ends, and, as if to recollect, pressed it across her forehead. There was a terrible throbbing there; the cool ivory was very pleasant. “I must claim payment,” Lord Winterset pursued playfully, whilst he glanced about him to see that neighbours were minding their business. “You remember it was to be anything I chose to ask for.” “Lord Winterset! How foolish! There was really no wager at all; that was a mere joke, a piece of nonsense.” “Indeed, I did not regard it as anything of the kind,” he continued imperturbably, still fingering his seals. “I knew perfectly well that I should win, and I knew just as well what payment I should beg for.” Her beautifully gloved hand rested on its open palm by her side; there was pressure on it, the nerves were strung. She gazed straight before her and saw nothing. Lord Winterset looked at the hand, and touched it with two fingers. “That is what I ask,” he said, just audibly. Isabel drew the hand back to her lap, then faced him, with a great effort of self-control. “I cannot answer you at once, Lord Winterset,” she said, almost calmly, though in very truth the words were a mere buzzing in her own ears. “Not to-night. Grant me a day or two.” “Is that necessary?” “It is--indeed it is! I can say nothing whatever to-night. You must not interpret my behaviour at all.” “We hunt together to-morrow. May I see you in the evening?” “Yes, after the hunt. I will answer you then. May I, please, be left to myself now?” “Till to-morrow evening.” Lord Winterset smiled, bowed to her with informal grace, and passed to the nearest group.