When the time came to start for the ball Gifford went down to see his friend off and to repeat his orders concerning the immediate delivery of his suit-case when it should arrive. Henshaw was in the hall, bulking big in a fur coat and complaining in a masterful tone of the unpunctuality of his fly. A handsome fellow, Gifford was constrained to acknowledge, and of a strong, positive character; the type of man, he thought, who could be very fascinating to women--and very brutal. He dropped his rather bullying manner as he caught sight of the two friends; and, noticing Gifford's morning clothes, made a casually sympathetic remark on his bad luck. "Oh, I shall come on when my things arrive, which ought to be soon," Gifford responded coldly, disliking the man and his rather obvious insincerity. "We might have driven over together," Henshaw said, addressing Kelson. "But I hardly cared to propose it after the line you took at the station." There was an unpleasant curl of the lip as he spoke the words almost vindictively, as though with intent to put Kelson in the wrong. But his sneer had no effect on the ex-Cavalryman. "I am driving over in my own trap," he replied coolly, ignoring the other's intent. "You will be a good deal more comfortable in a closed carriage." "Decidedly," Henshaw returned with a laugh. "I am not so fond of an east wind as to get more of it than can be helped. And, after all, it is best to go independently to an affair of this sort. One may get bored and want to leave early." Kelson nodded with a grim appreciation of the man's trick of argument, and went out to his waiting dog-cart. Henshaw's fly drove up as Gifford turned back from the door. "I suppose we shall see you towards midnight," he said lightly as he passed Gifford, his tone clearly suggesting his utter indifference in the matter. "I dare say," Gifford replied, and as he went upstairs he heard an order given for "Mr. Henshaw's fire in number 9 to be kept up against his return."