“Good-night, then.” He bent down, and with the utmost grace kissed her hand. When he left her Mrs. Fitzherbert quietly smiled. “I thank my stars I am a lone, lorn woman, and unless I become a perfect lunatic I’ll take care to remain one.” XVI The Canon passed an unquiet night; and next morning, feeling in need of fresh air, took a stroll in the Park. The day was very fine, and there was a charming freshness in the air which soon brought back his serenity. He sauntered up the Row looking at the people who were out already to enjoy the earliness of the day after a late night at some gay party. He stopped now and then to observe the flowers, in which he took the horticulturist’s delight: Canon Spratte had an amiable weakness for putting Latin names to the daintiest blossoms of the way-side. He nodded to one or two friends and passed the time of day with a famous politician. The scene had an air of luxury and of fashionable indifference to the cares of life which filled him with satisfaction. Presently he saw Gwendolen Durant ride towards him. She looked so well on horseback that he wondered more than ever why Lionel could not make up his mind to marry. She stopped and spoke to him. They exchanged the simple banter which serves for wit among the easily pleased, and the Canon expressed his admiration of her seat. She nodded a farewell and put her heel to the horse’s side. But at that moment a motor-car rushed by at a terrific speed and gave a series of loud explosions. Gwendolen’s horse turned round with a sudden leap that almost unseated her, and was on the point of bolting, when the Canon jumped forward and seized the bridle. It was not a very dangerous action, but it required some presence of mind, and he performed it with a breadth of gesture that made it look almost heroic. “Thanks, so much,” said Gwendolen, a little out of breath and startled. “If you hadn’t been there he’d have bolted. He’s got a mouth like iron and he simply pulls my arms out.” “Are you quite sure you’re safe now?” asked Canon Spratte, anxiously. The horse was still nervous and refused to stand still. “He’ll probably bolt with me, but I must risk it,” she laughed, trying to show no concern. “Let me tighten the curb a little, and then you’ll be as safe as a house.” With deft fingers he undid the chain and altered it. “You know, you really ought not to ride alone.” “A groom bores me, and there’s no one else to come.” “_I_ shall ride with you to-morrow,” he answered. “I don’t think you should be left to your own devices. Now I think you’re in no danger.” She thanked him effusively and trotted quickly off. The Canon resumed his promenade somewhat pleased with the action: he was grateful for the smallest incident that served to restore his diminished self-esteem. He was turning round to go home when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Sir John Durant. “I’ve just seen Gwendolen. She tells me you saved her from a nasty accident.”