“New York is the centre of the earth, and full of pretty—interesting things, dontcherknow? I’ve had some gay times there, I can tell you. But I’ve settled down now, and prefer Westchester County to any place on earth. I’d rather be behind or on a horse than anything else.” “Don’t you care for society?” “I hate it. One winter was enough for me. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me into a ball-room again. Of course when the house is full of company in summer I like that well enough. I play billiards with the men and spoon—flirt with the girls and the pretty married women; but I’m just as contented when they’ve all cleared out.” “Do you mean to say that you stay in the country by yourself all winter? What do you do? Read?” “N-o-o-o. I don’t care much about books. We have a big farm and I run it, and I skate and drive and ride and smoke—Oh, there’s plenty to do. Occasionally I go to town and have a little fun.” “What do you call fun if you don’t like society,—the theatre?” “The theatre!” he laughed. “I never sat out a play in my life. Oh, I don’t know you well enough to tell you everything yet. Sometime, I’ll tell you a lot of funny things.” “Perhaps you enjoy the newspapers in winter,” said Patience, hastily. “Oh, I read even the advertisements. The papers are all the reading any man wants. There are two or three good sensational stories every day.” “I don’t read those,” said Patience, disgustedly. This idol appeared to be clay straight up to his hair. “I like to read the big news and Mr. Field’s editorials.” “Oh, you need educating. I read those too—not Field; he’s too much for me. But I didn’t come here to talk about newspapers—” “Won’t you smoke a cigar?” “No, thanks. I smoked all the way down, and in the cab too, for that matter—” “Are the horses standing out there in the cold? Wouldn’t you like to tell him to take them to the barn?” “I suppose he can look after his own horses. They’re nothing but old hacks, anyhow.” He leaned forward abruptly and took her hand, pressing it closely. “Oh!” he said. “I’ve been wild to see you again.” Patience attempted to jerk her hand away, acutely conscious of a desire to return his clasp. She did the worst thing possible, but the only thing that could be expected: she lost her head. “I don’t like you to do that,” she exclaimed. “Let me go! What do you mean, anyhow?” “That you are the loveliest woman I ever saw. I have been wild about you—” He had taken her other hand, and his face was close to hers. He had lowered his lids slightly. “And you think that because I am alone here you can say what you like?” she cried passionately. “You would not dare act like this with one of your mother’s guests!” “Oh, wouldn’t I?” He laughed disagreeably. “But what is the use of being a goose—” Patience sprang to her feet, overturning her chair: but she only succeeded in pulling him to his feet also; he would not release her hands.