"That's where you are wrong, Cynthia. The horse did," said Mr. Benoliel. "Ten minutes ago, as I was turning out of Grosvenor Square, I met my very valuable horse being led by a ragged beggarman whom I had never seen in my life before. I asked him what the dickens he was doing with it and he explained that as he was standing by the rails in Hyde Park a young man rode up to him in a violent rage, dismounted, tossed him the reins and a shilling and told him to lead the rotten beast back to Grosvenor Square. Just fancy that! My horse! I might have lost him altogether." Cynthia tried her best to look indignant at so treacherous a return to Mr. Benoliel's generosity, but she could not and she rippled suddenly into laughter. "He was horribly angry," she said. Mr. Benoliel turned his wrath again upon Cynthia. "And no wonder!" he said. "Helmsdale's not used to being refused. He is young. He is good-looking. He has a social position----" "And he has a profile," added Cynthia. "Please don't forget that. But you can't if you know him, or even if you don't, can you? Have you ever fixed your eyes steadily upon him, Mr. Benoliel? Do the next time you see him, and within twenty seconds he will show you his profile. He will turn his head quite slowly and show it you, just like a man at the music-halls disclosing the newest sensation. I couldn't marry a profile, even though it was mounted on your horse." Then she bent down to him again coaxing him: "You didn't really want me to marry him, did you? You see, I don't love him." Mr. Benoliel seemed to think this answer insufficient. "Love would come," he answered. "That's what he said," exclaimed Cynthia. "And you?" asked Benoliel. Cynthia bent her eyes steadily upon him. "I answered, 'Lovers would come.'" Mr. Benoliel looked up at her with a wry face. "You know too much, my dear," he said, and Cynthia threw back her head, with her face suddenly clouded and sullen. "Oh, yes," she cried bitterly. "I have eaten of the tree--and lately--very lately." And at the sight of her distress all Mr. Benoliel's indignation vanished. "I know," he said gently. "That's why I wanted you to marry, Cynthia." "Is that the remedy?" she asked. And she shook her head slowly. "I am frightened of it." She called to her groom, dismounted from her horse and taking Mr. Benoliel by the arm cried: "Come in. You haven't seen my house since I bought it. You shall tell me what you think of it, now that it's finished." She ran up the steps and turned to him at the top with a look of compunction in her face: