“Now it is you who are piling it on! You will use such tragic expressions for the most trivial things. Of course, I am sorry if—” “Then make amends!”—he said quickly. “Promise me—if the mare turns out well—you will ride in Lathom Woods—on Saturday?” His eyes shone upon her. The force of the man’s personality seemed to envelope her, to beat down the resistance which, as soon as he was out of her sight, the wiser mind in her built up. She hesitated—smiled. And again the smile—or was it the May sun and wind?—gave her that heightening, that touch of brilliance that a face so delicate must often miss. Falloden’s fastidious sense approved her wholly: the white dress; the hat that framed her brow; the slender gold chains which rose and fell on her gently rounded breast; her height and grace. Passion beat within him. He hung on her answer. “Saturday—impossible! I am not free till Monday, at least. And what about the groom?” She looked up. “I shall parade him to-morrow, livery, horse and all. I undertake he shall give satisfaction. The Lathom Woods just now are a dream!” “It is all a dream!” she said, looking round her at the beauty of field and tree, of the May clouds, and the grey college walls—youth and youth’s emotion speaking in the sudden softening of her eyes. He saw—he felt her—yielding. “You’ll come?” “I—I suppose I may as well ride in Lathom Woods as anywhere else. You have a key?” “The groom will have it. I meet you there.” She flushed a bright pink. “That might have been left vague!” “How are you to find your way through those woods without a guide?” he protested. She was silent a moment, then she said with decision: “I must overtake my people.” “You shall. I want you to talk to my mother—and—you have still to introduce me to your aunt and cousins.” Mirth crept into her eyes. The process of taming him had begun. Falloden on the way back to his lodgings handed over his family to the tender offices of Meyrick and a couple of other gilded youths, who had promised to look after them for the evening. They were to dine at the Randolph, and go to a college concert. Falloden washed his hands of them, and shut himself up for five or six hours’ grind, broken only by a very hasty meal. The thought of Constance hovered about him—but his will banished it. Will and something else—those aptitudes of brain which determined his quick and serviceable intelligence.