Once in the large comfortable wherry which had been hired for the occasion, Arthur found very little opportunity, beyond that of paying the most devoted attention to her personal comfort, of making himself agreeable to his lady-love. That there was _one_ subject, at least, besides herself of real and almost absorbing interest to Arthur Vavasour soon became evident to Honor; and that subject was the approaching Derby race. Since her instalment in Stanwick-street, Honor had heard more talk of that all-important annual event than--horse-breeder’s wife though she was--she had listened to through all the many months of her married life; and naturally enough, seeing that the “favourite” was her father’s property, and that Arthur Vavasour appeared deeply interested in the triumph of Rough Diamond, the success of that distinguished animal became one of the most anxious wishes of Mrs. John Beacham’s heart. “O, I do so hope he’ll win!” she exclaimed enthusiastically; “he is such a wonderfully beautiful creature. And he has a brother who, they think, will be more perfect still;--no, not a brother quite, a half-brother, I think he is; and I used to watch him every day led out to exercise, looking so wild and lovely. He is only a year old, and his name is Faust; and they say he is quite sure to be a Derby horse.” Poor Honor! In her eagerness on the subject, and her intense love of the animal whose varied charms and excellences were to be seen in such perfection in her husband’s home, she had been inadvertently “talking shop” for the amusement of the spurious fine ladies, whose supercilious glances at each other were not, even by such a novice as Honor Beacham, to be mistaken. In a moment--for the poison of such glances is as rapid as it is insidious--two evil spirits, the spirits of anger and of a keen desire to be avenged, took possession of our heroine. She saw herself despised, and--so true is it that we cannot scarcely commit the smallest sin without doing an injury as well to our neighbours as to ourselves--she resolved, to the utter extinction of the very inferior beauties near her, to make the most of the wondrous gift of loveliness which she was conscious of possessing. Hitherto she had “borne her faculties meekly;” the consciousness that she was, by marriage, without the pale of the “upper ten thousand” had, together with an innate modesty which was one of her rarest charms, kept her silent and somewhat subdued when in what is called “company.” It had required the looks of contempt which she had seen passing between the well-got-up sisters to rouse the spirit of display in Honor Beacham’s heart; but, once aroused, the intoxication of success encouraged her to proceed, and the demon of Coquetry was found hard indeed to crush.