She laughed. "Visiting, as we were, I suppose. You know we weren’t being divorced." "Glad to hear it." "You didn’t _think_ so!" she exclaimed. His eyes twinkled. "No," he said, "I didn’t. But you can’t throw a stone into a crowd and give odds on its not hitting a divorced person." "Does divorce shock you?" "Not in the least; I’m past shocks, young lady. Who is Mrs. Wemyss?" "Your own guest?" He winced. "I’m asking you. We made her acquaintance at the Plaza last winter.... It seems that she and young Inwood knew each other in Keno." "_That_ is where I’ve seen her!" said Diana with innocent conviction. "I knew I’d seen her somewhere.... But she was very much slighter—oh, very much—and extremely pretty." "Divorcée?" "Isn’t she a widow?" "I guess so.... No matter." ... He stood up briskly; she rose, too, understanding that the interview was ended—feeling slightly uncomfortable because she had permitted herself to be so thoroughly pumped. Yet there seemed to be nothing significant in the operation or results. "I’m going for a ride with my wife"—he meant drive—"just a buggy and an old plug. She and I enjoy it, Miss Tennant." To her surprise he took her hand between his own dry little palms and pressed it. "You’re a good girl," he said; "you and your sister—and Edgerton—he’s all right—you’re good children—and all off the same tree, little lady—all off the same old block in the beginning—that’s plain as preaching.... Do you really like my Christine?" "Yes, I do." "And Jack?" "Exceedingly." "That’s right; they like you, too. They ought to. They’re good children, and so are you. Good-by." *CHAPTER X* *COMPOS MENTIS* As Diana put her pony to a full gallop and rode him off, Edgerton’s mount fell, and the young fellow lay sprawling on the sod. He was on his feet immediately; so was his polo pony. When Diana pulled up, whirled her mount and came scurrying back, Edgerton had picked up his mallet and stood resting against his saddle. "All right, Jim?" she asked briefly. "All right, thanks." The color had left his face under the tan, and his expression was queer. "You look rather white," she insisted. "Did Parsnip kick you?" "It’s nothing," he said, smiling. "Put Jack in; I’ve got some business to talk over with Mr. Rivett." "You’re _sure_ you’re all right?" "What a fuss you are!" he said, leading Parsnip across the field toward a groom. The girl looked after him, saw the groom slip a white wool polo coat over the young man’s shoulders and take the pony, saw Edgerton drop his hands into the pockets and stroll across the field toward the terrace; then, lifting her mallet, she hailed Jack Rivett in a clear, ringing call, and cantered away up field.