Covington. Jasper is a scientific butterfly. He makes both ends meet,--nearly always. Now no one but a genius could have fixed it up to see one girl off and meet another on the same train."

Later on, Jasper, Jr., and I strolled over to the casino verandah, the chatty Miss Parsons between us, but leaning a shade nearer to young Titus than to me, although she appeared to be somewhat overwhelmed at meeting a real live author. Mr. Titus, as was his habit, hurried on ahead of us. I afterwards discovered he had a dread of pneumonia.

"Aline never said a word about your coming, John," said Jasper, Jr. He called me John with considerable gusto. "She's learning how to hold her tongue."

"It happens that she didn't know I was coming," said I drily. He whistled.

"She's off somewhere with Amberdale. Ever meet him? He's one of the finest chaps I know. You'll like him, Miss Parsons. He's not at all like a Britisher."

"But I like the British," said she.

"Then I'll tell him to spread it on a bit," said Jappy obligingly. "Great horseman, he is. Got some ripping nags in the New York show next week, and he rides like a dream. Watch him pull down a few ribbons and rosettes. Sure thing."

"Your father told me that the Countess was off riding with him and another chap,--off to Fassifern, I believe."

"For luncheon. They do it three or four times a week. Not for me. I like waiters with shirt fronts and nickle tags."

Alone with me in the casino half an hour later, he announced that it really looked serious, this affair between Aline and his lordship.

I tried to appear indifferent,--a rather pale effort, I fear.

"I think I am in on the secret, Jappy," said I soberly.

He stared. "Has she ever said anything to you, old chap, that would lead you to believe she's keen about him?"

I temporised. "She's keen about somebody, my son; that's as far as I will go."

"Then it must be Amberdale. I'm on to her all right, all right. I know women. She's in love, hang it all. If you know a thing about 'em, you can spot the symptoms without the x-rays. I've been hoping against hope, old man. I don't want her to marry again. She's had all the hell she's entitled to. What's the matter with women, anyhow? They no sooner get out of one muddle than they begin looking around for another. Can't be satisfied with good luck."

"But every one speaks very highly of Lord Amberdale. I'm sure she can't be making a mistake in marrying him."

"I wish she'd pick out a good, steady, simplified American, just as an experiment. We're not so darned bad, you know. Women can do worse than to marry Americans."

"It is a matter of opinion, I fancy. At any rate we can't go about picking out husbands for people who have minds of their own."

"Well, some one in our family picked out a lemon for Aline the first time, let me tell you that," said he, scowling.

"And she's doing the picking for herself this time, I gather."

"I suppose so," said he gloomily.

I have visited the popular and almost historic Fassifern farm a great many times in my short career, but for the life of me I cannot understand what attraction it possesses that could induce people to go there for luncheon and then spend a whole afternoon lolling about the place. But that seems to have been precisely what the Countess and his lordship did on the day of my arrival at the Homestead. The "other chap," Skerry, came riding home alone at three o'clock. She did not return until nearly six. By that time I was in a state of suppressed fury that almost drove me to the railway station with a single and you might say childish object in view.

I had a pleasant visit with Mrs. Titus, who seemed overjoyed to see me. In fact, I had luncheon with her. Mr. Titus, it appeared, never ate luncheon. He had a dread of typhoid, I believe, and as he already possessed gout and insomnia and an intermittent tendency to pain in his abdomen, and couldn't drink anything alcoholic or eat anything starchy, I found myself wondering what he really did for a living.

Mrs. Titus talked a great deal about Lord Amberdale. She was most tiresome after the first half hour, but I must say that the luncheon was admirable. I happened to be hungry. Having quite made up my mind that Aline was going to marry Amberdale, I proceeded to upset the theory that a man in love is a creature without gastronomical aspirations by vulgarly stuffing myself with half a lamb chop, a slice of buttered bread and nine pickles.

"Aline will be glad to see you again, Mr. Smart," said she amiably. "She was speaking of you only a day or two ago."

"Was she?" I inquired, with sudden interest which I contrived to conceal.

"Yes. She was wondering why you have never thought of marrying."

I closed my eyes for a second, and the piece of bread finally found the right channel.

"And what did you say to that?" I asked quietly.

She was disconcerted. "I? Oh, I think I said you didn't approve of marrying except for love, Mr. Smart."

"Um!" said I. "Love on both sides is the better way to put it."

"Am I to infer that you may have experienced a one-sided leaning toward matrimony?"

"So far as I know, I have been singularly unsupported, Mrs. Titus."

"You really ought to marry."

"Perhaps I may. Who knows?"

"Aline said you would make an excellent husband."

"By that she means a stupid one, I suppose. Excellent husbands are invariably stupid. They always want to stay at home."

She appeared thoughtful. "And expect their wives to stay at home too."

"On the contrary, an excellent husband lets his wife go where she likes--without him."

"I am afraid you do not understand matrimony, Mr. Smart," she said, and changed the subject.

I am afraid that my mind wandered a little at this juncture, for I missed fire on one or two direct questions. Mrs. Titus was annoyed; it would not be just to her to say that she was offended. If she could but have known that my thoughts were of the day and minute when I so brutally caressed the Countess Tarnowsy, I fancy she would have changed her good opinion of me. To tell the truth, I was wondering just how the Countess would behave toward me, with the memory of that unforgettable incident standing between us. I had been trying to convince myself for a very long time that my fault was not as great in her eyes as it was in mine.

Along about five o'clock, I went to my room. I daresay I was sulking. A polite bell-boy tapped on my door at half-past six. He presented a small envelope to me, thanked me three or four times, and, as an afterthought, announced that there was to be an answer.

Whereupon I read the Countess's note with a magnificently unreadable face. I cleared my throat, and (I think) squared my shoulders somewhat as a soldier does when he is being commended for valour, and said:

"Present my compliments to the Countess, and say that Mr. Smart will be down in five minutes."

The boy stared. "The--the what, sir?"

"The _what_?" I demanded.

"I mean the _who_, sir."

"The Countess. The lady who sent you up with this note."

"Wasn't no Countess sent me up hyer, boss. It was Miss Tarsney."

Somehow staggered, I managed to wave my hand comprehensively.

"Never mind. Just say that I'll be down in two minutes."

He grinned. "I reckon I'd better hustle, or you'll beat me down, boss."

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXI

SHE PROPOSES

She was still in her riding habit when I found her alone in the parlour of the Titus suite.

I give you my word my heart almost stopped beating. I've never seen any one so lovely as she was at that moment. _Never_, I repeat. Her hair, blown by the kind November winds, strayed--but no! I cannot begin to define the loveliness of her. There was a warm, rich glow in her cheeks and a light in her eyes that actually bewildered me, and more than that I am not competent to utter.

"You have come at last," she said, and her voice sounded very far off; although I was lifting her ungloved hand to my lips. She clenched my fingers tightly, I remember that; and also that my hand shook violently and that my face _felt_ pale.