An hour later, he said to her, as they parted for the night: “I hope, with all my heart, that you will never repent of it, Delia.” “You can make me not repent of it. It rests with you, Gaston; indeed, indeed, all with you.” “Poor girl!” he said, unconsciously, as he entered his room. He could not have told why he said it. “Why will you always sit up for me, Brillon?” he asked a moment afterwards. Jacques saw that something had occurred. “I have nothing else to do, sir,” he replied. “Brillon,” Gaston added presently, “we’re in a devil of a scrape now.” “What shall we do, monsieur?” “Did we ever turn tail?” “Yes, from a prairie fire.” “Not always. I’ve ridden through.” “Alors, it’s one chance in ten thousand!” “There’s a woman to be thought of--Jacques.” “There was that other time.” “Well, then?” Presently Jacques said: “Who is she, monsieur?” Gaston did not answer. He was thinking hard. Jacques said no more. The next morning early the guests knew who the woman was, and by noon Jacques also. CHAPTER XI. HE MAKES A GALLANT CONQUEST Gaston let himself drift. The game of love and marriage is exciting, the girl was affectionate and admiring, the world was genial, and all things came his way. Towards the end of the hunting season Captain Maudsley had an accident. It would prevent him riding to hounds again, and at his suggestion, backed by Lord Dunfolly and Lord Dargan, Gaston became Master of the Hounds. His grandfather and great-grandfather had been Master of the Hounds before him. Hunting was a keen enjoyment--one outlet for wild life in him--and at the last meet of the year he rode in Captain Maudsley’s place. They had a good run, and the taste of it remained with Gaston for many a day; he thought of it sometimes as he rode in the Park now every morning--with Delia and her mother. Jacques and his broncho came no more, or if they did it was at unseasonable hours, and then to be often reprimanded (and twice arrested) for furious riding. Gaston had a bad moment when he told Jacques that he need not come with him again. He did it casually, but, cool as he was, a cold sweat came on his cheek. He had to take a little brandy to steady himself--yet he had looked into menacing rifle-barrels more than once without a tremor. It was clear, on the face of it, that Delia and her mother should be his companions in the Park, and not this grave little half-breed; but, somehow, it got on his nerves. He hesitated for days before he could cast the die against Jacques. It had been the one open bond of the old life; yet the man was but a servant, and to be treated as such, and was, indeed, except on rarest occasions. If Delia had known that Gaston balanced the matter between her and Jacques, her indignation might perhaps have sent matters to a crisis. But Gaston did the only possible thing; and the weeks drifted on. Happy? It was inexplicable even to himself that at times, when he left Delia, he said unconsciously: “Well, it’s a pity!”