Neither Julia nor Bessie Lewis had appeared at luncheon. Julia had sent word that she would be late, to her mother’s absent-minded distraction. Mrs. Budd’s desire to rush away and fetch her fluttered before the faces of her guests like a flag of distress. In the end she was deflected by an imperative telephone that caught her just as her guests were rising. While they loitered between the dining-room and living-hall, chatting in groups, Julia, with Bessie Lewis at her heels, came down the stairs, habited, hatted, booted, drawing on her gloves, her riding-whip under her arm. She was pale, but singularly vivid. Her dark eyes gleamed under her thick brows. Her red lips were tight and thin. Florence, looking quickly at Longacre, hated the presence descending the stairs. “Oh, I say, young madam,” Thair protested, amused; “it won’t do, you know. You’re going to break your neck.” “_You_ aren’t coming!” she laughed at him, though he was in his pinks. “But Mr. Holden is!” “Here, here!” Holden protested, shaking his head, half serious. “Don’t misquote me!” “But we’re all going!” she cried, with a look straight at Longacre. “There are the horses!” She was buoyant. “Are two women going to ride cross-country alone?” she mocked them. “By gad!” murmured Holden in stark admiration for such daring. Julia turned on Longacre. “Are you ready?” she said. He stared. Then—“Not for this,” he answered briefly. “Oh!” Her look again was diabolical. “Are _you_ the man who wasn’t afraid this morning?” “Did you accept the offer?” “If I didn’t—” her red lips curled over her teeth—“I do now!” “You’ll break your neck!” “My neck!” She began laughing, as if that were something superlatively ridiculous. There was a contagion of recklessness in the sound of it. She leaned a little nearer and shook her head at him. “My neck is worth at least two fences! And yours?” “Oh, not that much!” It was an answering spirit. “Then come!” she cried. “We’ll lead them!” A quick step hurrying from the dining-room, and Mrs. Budd’s emphatic voice was lifted. “Where _did_ those horses come from?” The tone expressed mere general wonder to the aggregation in the hall, that quickened to personal apprehension at sight of her daughter equipped for the saddle. “Why, _Julia_!” she began. Then seeing Bessie Lewis, she hesitated, dismayed. [Illustration: “‘_Are you ready?_’”] “We’re just off, mama!” cried Julia. “I told James to have the cart ready to drive you over to the ‘finish.’” “Off? Over?” Mrs. Budd helplessly questioned. “Why, the drag—the drag-hunt!” her daughter exclaimed. “You haven’t forgotten our great event!” “The drag-hunt! My dear child! Why, you’re _crazy_!” Mrs. Budd’s hands were eloquent of horror. “Mr. Thair—Mr. Holden! Surely—why, it’s _impossible_!”