The ball at Brendon House--Chloe still felt the triumph of it in her veins--still saw the softening in Roger's handsome face, the look of lazy pleasure, and the disapproval--or was it the envy?--in the eyes of certain county magnates looking on. Since then, no communication between Heston and Upcott. * * * * * Mrs. Fairmile was now a couple of miles from the meet. She had struck into a great belt of plantations bounding one side of the ducal estate. Through it ran a famous green ride, crossed near its beginning by a main road. On her right, beyond the thick screen of trees, was the railway, and she could hear the occasional rush of a train. When she reached the cross road, which led from a station, a labourer opened the plantation gates for her. As he unlatched the second, she perceived a man's figure in front of her. "Roger!" A touch of the whip--her horse sprang forward. The man in front looked back startled; but she was already beside him. "You keep up the old habit, like me? What a lovely day!" Roger Barnes, after a flush of amazement and surprise, greeted her coldly: "It is a long way for you to come," he said formally. "Twelve miles, isn't it? You're not going to hunt?" "Oh, no! I only came to look at the hounds and the horses--to remind myself of all the good old times. You don't want to remember them, I know. Life's gone on for you!" Roger bent forward to pat the neck of his horse. "It goes on for all of us," he said gruffly. "Ah, well!" She sighed. He looked up and their eyes met. The wind had slightly reddened her pale skin: her expression was one of great animation, yet of great softness. The grace of the long, slender body in the close-fitting habit; of the beautiful head and loosened hair under the small, low-crowned beaver hat; the slender hand upon the reins--all these various impressions rushed upon Barnes at once, bringing with them the fascination of a past happiness, provoking, by contrast, the memory of a harassing and irritating present. "Is Heston getting on?" asked Mrs. Fairmile, smiling. He frowned involuntarily. "Oh, I suppose we shall be straight some day;" the tone, however, belied the words. "When once the British workman gets in, it's the deuce to get him out." "The old house had such a charm!" said Chloe softly. Roger made no reply. He rode stiffly beside her, looking straight before him. Chloe, observing him without appearing to do anything of the kind, asked herself whether the Apollo radiance of him were not already somewhat quenched and shorn. A slight thickening of feature--a slight coarsening of form--she thought she perceived them. Poor Roger!--had he been living too well and idling too flagrantly on these American dollars? Suddenly she bent over and laid a gloved hand on his arm. "Hadn't it?" she said, in a low voice. He started. But he neither looked at her nor shook her off.