Mrs. Lobyer in her own secret soul rejoiced that she was not more intimately acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of Mr. Brownjohn and other men of his class. She had a faint idea that to be "struck rather heavily" meant something unpleasant; but as her husband did not invite her sympathy, she did not consider herself in anyway bound to be uneasy because of such unpleasantness. If ever she thought about Mr. Lobyer's financial position, she thought of him as the owner of wealth so enormous that no mistaken adventure could exhaust or even diminish it in any palpable manner. "I don't know why he worries himself about the money-market," she said to Cecil. "He couldn't spend any more money than he does if his income were trebled; but I suppose, after reaching a certain point, a man takes pleasure in the magnitude of his wealth without any reference to the use he can make of it. I dare say Mr. Lobyer is tired of being a millionaire--there are so many millionaires nowadays--and a man must be a millionaire if he wants to be any thing out of the common." The sixteenth of January began very pleasantly. The breakfast went off delightfully. The gentlemen mounted their covert hacks at eleven o'clock, and rode off to the meet, accompanied by a party of blooming equestrians, with Miss Evershed for their leader, and followed by a landau filled with older and less adventurous ladies. These ladies were only to witness the meet, for there were no Diana Vernons at Pevenshall. Miss Evershed rode superbly, but professed a supreme contempt for hunting. "I believe there was a time when a lady could hunt," she said, when the subject was discussed at the breakfast-table, "and when she knew whom she was likely to meet at covert. But that is all changed now, and we leave the sport to people who seem to enjoy it amazingly, and who can better afford to shake a valuable hunter once or twice in the season than we could." Miss Evershed happened to be looking at her host as she gave utterance to these remarks, and over that gentleman's swarthy complexion there came a dusky tinge of crimson as he evaded the young lady's fearless gaze. "It would be rather hard if the hunting-field wasn't free to good riders," he muttered. "I'm sure one meets plenty of bad ones there every day!" Neither Mrs. Lobyer nor Lady Cecil were among the ladies who rode to covert; for Florence wanted to read one particular scene in the comedy for the last time, and she begged her dear Cecil to stay at home until the afternoon, when they could drive out together.