"NOT SO large as Windygates. But--shall we say snug, Jones?"

"And comfortable, Smith. I quite agree with you."

Such was the judgment pronounced by the two choral gentlemen onJulius Delamayn's house in Scotland. It was, as usual with Smithand Jones, a sound judgment--as far as it went. Swanhaven Lodgewas not half the size of Windygates; but it had been inhabitedfor two centuries when the foundations of Windygates were firstlaid--and it possessed the advantages, without inheriting thedrawbacks, of its age. There is in an old house a friendlyadaptation to the human character, as there is in an old hat afriendly adaptation to the human head. The visitor who leftSwanhaven quitted it with something like a sense of leaving home.Among the few houses not our own which take a strong hold on oursympathies this was one. The ornamental grounds were far inferiorin size and splendor to the grounds at Windygates. But the parkwas beautiful--less carefully laid out, but also less monotonousthan an English park. The lake on the northern boundary of theestate, famous for its breed of swans, was one of the curiositiesof the neighborhood; and the house had a history, associating itwith more than one celebrated Scottish name, which had beenwritten and illustrated by Julius Delamayn. Visitors to SwanhavenLodge were invariably presented with a copy of the volume(privately printed). One in twenty read it. The rest were"charmed," and looked at the pictures.

The day was the last day of August, and the occasion was thegarden-party given by Mr. and Mrs. Delamayn.

Smith and Jones--following, with the other guests at Windygates,in Lady Lundie's train--exchanged their opinions on the merits ofthe house, standing on a terrace at the back, near a flight ofsteps which led down into the garden. They formed the van-guardof the visitors, appearing by twos and threes from the receptionrooms, and all bent on going to see the swans before theamusements of the day began. Julius Delamayn came out with thefirst detachment, recruited Smith and Jones, and other wanderingbachelors, by the way, and set forth for the lake. An interval ofa minute or two passed--and the terrace remained empty. Then twoladies--at the head of a second detachment of visitors--appearedunder the old stone porch which sheltered the entrance on thatside of the house. One of the ladies was a modest, pleasantlittle person, very simply dressed. The other was of the tall andformidable type of "fine women," clad in dazzling array. Thefirst was Mrs. Julius Delamayn. The second was Lady Lundie.

"Exquisite!" cried her ladyship, surveying the old mullionedwindows of the house, with their framing of creepers, and thegrand stone buttresses projecting at intervals from the wall,each with its bright little circle of flowers blooming round thebase. "I am really grieved that Sir Patrick should have missedthis."

"I think you said, Lady Lundie, that Sir Patrick had been calledto Edinburgh by family business?"

"Business, Mrs. Delamayn, which is any thing but agreeable to me,as one member of the family. It has altered all my arrangementsfor the autumn. My step-daughter is to be married next week."

"Is it so near as that? May I ask who the gentleman is?"

"Mr. Arnold Brinkworth."

"Surely I have some association with that name?"

"You have probably heard of him, Mrs. Delamayn, as the heir toMiss Brinkworth's Scotch property?"

"Exactly! Have you brought Mr. Brinkworth here to-day?"

"I bring his apologies, as well as Sir Patrick's. They went toEdinburgh together the day before yesterday. The lawyers engageto have the settlements ready in three or four days more, if apersonal consultation can be managed. Some formal question, Ibelieve, connected with title-deeds. Sir Patrick thought thesafest way and the speediest way would be to take Mr. Brinkworthwith him to Edinburgh--to get the business over to-day--and towait until we join them, on our way south, to-morrow."

"You leave Windygates, in this lovely weather?"

"Most unwillingly! The truth is, Mrs. Delamayn, I am at mystep-daughter's mercy. Her uncle has the authority, as herguardian--and the use he makes of it is to give her her own wayin every thing. It was only on Friday last that she consented tolet the day be fixed--and even then she made it a positivecondition that the marriage was not to take place in Scotland.Pure willfulness! But what can I do? Sir Patrick submits; and Mr.Brinkworth submits. If I am to be present at the marriage I mustfollow their example. I feel it my duty to be present--and, as amatter of course, I sacrifice myself. We start for Londonto-morrow."

"Is Miss Lundie to be married in London at this time of year?"

"No. We only pass through, on our way to Sir Patrick's place inKent--the place that came to him with the title; the placeassociated with the last days of my beloved husband. Anothertrial for _me!_ The marriage is to be solemnized on the scene ofmy bereavement. My old wound is to be reopened on Mondaynext--simply because my step-daughter has taken a dislike toWindygates."

"This day week, then, is the day of the marriage?"

"Yes. This day week. There have been reasons for hurrying itwhich I need not trouble you with. No words can say how I wish itwas over.--But, my dear Mrs. Delamayn, how thoughtless of me toassail _ you_ with my family worries! You are so sympathetic.That is my only excuse. Don't let me keep you from your guests. Icould linger in this sweet place forever! Where is Mrs. Glenarm?"

"I really don't know. I missed her when we came out on theterrace. She will very likely join us at the lake. Do you careabout seeing the lake, Lady Lundie?"

"I adore the beauties of Nature, Mrs. Delamayn--especiallylakes!"

"We have something to show you besides; we have a breed of swanson the lake, peculiar to the place. My husband has gone on withsome of our friends; and I believe we are expected to follow, assoon as the rest of the party--in charge of my sister--have seenthe house."

"And what a house, Mrs. Delamayn! Historical associations inevery corner of it! It is _such_ a relief to my mind to takerefuge in the past. When I am far away from this sweet place Ishall people Swanhaven with its departed inmates, and share thejoys and sorrows of centuries since."

As Lady Lundie announced, in these terms, her intention of addingto the population of the past, the last of the guests who hadbeen roaming over the old house appeared under the porch. Amongthe members forming this final addition to the garden-party wereBlanche, and a friend of her own age whom she had met atSwanhaven. The two girls lagged behind the rest, talkingconfidentially, arm in arm--the subject (it is surely needless toadd) being the coming marriage.

"But, dearest Blanche, why are you not to be married atWindygates?"

"I detest Windygates, Janet. I have the most miserableassociations with the place. Don't ask me what they are! Theeffort of my life is not to think of them now. I long to see thelast of Windygates. As for being married there, I have made it acondition that I am not to be married in Scotland at all."

"What has poor Scotland done to forfeit your good opinion, mydear?"

"Poor Scotland, Janet, is a place where people don't know whetherthey are married or not. I have heard all about it from my uncle.And I know somebody who has been a victim--an innocent victim--toa Scotch marriage."

"Absurd, Blanche! You are thinking of runaway matches, and makingScotland responsible for the difficulties of people who daren'town the truth!"

"I am not at all absurd. I am thinking of the dearest friend Ihave. If you only knew--"

"My dear! _I_ am Scotch, remember! You can be married just aswell--I really must insist on that--in Scotland as in England."

"I hate Scotland!"

"Blanche!"

"I never was so unhappy in my life as I have been in Scotland. Inever want to see it again. I am determined to be married inEngland--from the dear old house where I used to live when I wasa little girl. My uncle is quite willing. _He_ understands me andfeels for me."

"Is that as much as to say that _I_ don't understand you and feelfor you? Perhaps I had better relieve you of my company,Blanche?"

"If you are going to speak to me in that way, perhaps you had!"

"Am I to hear my native country run down and not to say a word indefense of it?"

"Oh! you Scotch people make such a fuss about your nativecountry!"

"_We_ Scotch people! you are of Scotch extraction yourself, andyou ought to be ashamed to talk in that way. I wish yougood-morning!"

"I wish you a better temper!"

A minute since the two young ladies had been like twin roses onone stalk. Now they parted with red cheeks and hostile sentimentsand cutting words. How ardent is the warmth of youth! howunspeakably delicate the fragility of female friendship!

The flock of visitors followed Mrs. Delamayn to the shores of thelake. For a few minutes after the terrace was left a solitude.Then there appeared under the porch a single gentleman, loungingout with a flower in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. Thiswas the strongest man at Swanhaven--otherwise, Geoffrey Delamayn.

After a moment a lady appeared behind him, walking softly, so asnot to be heard. She was superbly dressed after the newest andthe most costly Parisian design. The brooch on her bosom was asingle diamond of resplendent water and great size. The fan inher hand was a master-piece of the finest Indian workmanship. Shelooked what she was, a person possessed of plenty of superfluousmoney, but not additionally blest with plenty of superfluousintelligence to correspond. This was the childless young widow ofthe great ironmaster--otherwise, Mrs. Glenarm.

The rich woman tapped the strong man coquettishly on the shoulderwith her fan. "Ah! you bad boy!" she said, with aslightly-labored archness of look and manner. "Have I found youat last?"

Geoffrey sauntered on to the terrace--keeping the lady behind himwith a thoroughly savage superiority to all civilized submissionto the sex--and looked at his watch.

"I said I'd come here when I'd got half an hour to myself," hemumbled, turning the flower carelessly between his teeth. "I'vegot half an hour, and here I am."

"Did you come for the sake of seeing the visitors, or did youcome for the sake of seeing Me?"

Geoffrey smiled graciously, and gave the flower another turn inhis teeth. "You. Of course."

The iron-master's widow took his arm, and looked up at him--asonly a young woman would have dared to look up--with thesearching summer light streaming in its full brilliancy on herface.

Reduced to the plain expression of what it is really worth, theaverage English idea of beauty in women may be summed up in threewords--youth, health, plumpness. The more spiritual charm ofintelligence and vivacity, the subtler attraction of delicacy ofline and fitness of detail, are little looked for and seldomappreciated by the mass of men in this island. It is impossibleotherwise to account for the extraordinary blindness ofperception which (to give one instance only) makes nineEnglishmen out of ten who visit France come back declaring thatthey have not seen a single pretty Frenchwoman, in or out ofParis, in the whole country. Our popular type of beauty proclaimsitself, in its fullest material development, at every shop inwhich an illustrated periodical is sold. The same fleshy-facedgirl, with the same inane smile, and with no other expressionwhatever, appears under every form of illustration, week afterweek, and month after month, all the year round. Those who wishto know what Mrs. Glenarm was like, have only to go out and stopat any bookseller's or news-vendor's shop, and there they willsee her in the first illustration, with a young woman in it,which they discover in the window. The one noticeable peculiarityin Mrs. Glenarm's purely commonplace and purely material beauty,which would have struck an observant and a cultivated man, wasthe curious girlishness of her look and manner. No strangerspeaking to this woman--who had been a wife at twenty, and whowas now a widow at twenty-four--would ever have thought ofaddressing her otherwise than as "Miss."

"Is that the use you make of a flower when I give it to you?" shesaid to Geoffrey. "Mumbling it in your teeth, you wretch, as ifyou were a horse!"

"If you come to tha t," returned Geoffrey, "I'm more a horse thana man. I'm going to run in a race, and the public are betting onme. Haw! haw! Five to four."

"Five to four! I believe he thinks of nothing but betting. Yougreat heavy creature, I can't move you. Don't you see I want togo like the rest of them to the lake? No! you're not to let go ofmy arm! You're to take me."

"Can't do it. Must be back with Perry in half an hour."

(Perry was the trainer from London. He had arrived sooner than hehad been expected, and had entered on his functions three dayssince.)

"Don't talk to me about Perry! A little vulgar wretch. Put himoff. You won't? Do you mean to say you are such a brute that youwould rather be with Perry than be with me?"

"The betting's at five to four, my dear. And the race comes offin a month from this."

"Oh! go away to your beloved Perry! I hate you. I hope you'lllose the race. Stop in your cottage. Pray don't come back to thehouse. And--mind this!--don't presume to say 'my dear' to meagain."

"It ain't presuming half far enough, is it? Wait a bit. Give metill the race is run--and then I'll presume to marry you."

"You! You will be as old as Methuselah, if you wait till I amyour wife. I dare say Perry has got a sister. Suppose you askhim? She would be just the right person for you."

Geoffrey gave the flower another turn in his teeth, and looked asif he thought the idea worth considering.

"All right," he said. "Any thing to be agreeable to you. I'll askPerry."

He turned away, as if he was going to do it at once. Mrs. Glenarmput out a little hand, ravishingly clothed in a blush-coloredglove, and laid it on the athlete's mighty arm. She pinched thoseiron muscles (the pride and glory of England) gently. "What a manyou are!" she said. "I never met with any body like you before!"

The whole secret of the power that Geoffrey had acquired over herwas in those words.

They had been together at Swanhaven for little more than tendays; and in that time he had made the conquest of Mrs. Glenarm.On the day before the garden-party--in one of the leisureintervals allowed him by Perry--he had caught her alone, hadtaken her by the arm, and had asked her, in so many words, if shewould marry him. Instances on record of women who have been wooedand won in ten days are--to speak it with all possiblerespect--not wanting. But an instance of a woman willing to haveit known still remains to be discovered. The iron-master's widowexacted a promise of secrecy before the committed herself WhenGeoffrey had pledged his word to hold his tongue in public untilshe gave him leave to speak, Mrs. Glenarm, without furtherhesitation, said Yes--having, be it observed, said No, in thecourse of the last two years, to at least half a dozen men whowere Geoffrey's superiors in every conceivable respect, exceptpersonal comeliness and personal strength.

There is a reason for every thing; and there was a reason forthis.

However persistently the epicene theorists of modern times maydeny it, it is nevertheless a truth plainly visible in the wholepast history of the sexes that the natural condition of a womanis to find her master in a man. Look in the face of any woman whois in no direct way dependent on a man: and, as certainly as yousee the sun in a cloudless sky, you see a woman who is not happy.The want of a master is their great unknown want; the possessionof a master is--unconsciously to themselves--the only possiblecompletion of their lives. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundredthis one primitive instinct is at the bottom of the otherwiseinexplicable sacrifice, when we see a woman, of her own freewill, throw herself away on a man who is unworthy of her. Thisone primitive instinct was at the bottom of the otherwiseinexplicable facility of self-surrender exhibited by Mrs.Glenarm.

Up to the time of her meeting with Geoffrey, the young widow hadgathered but one experience in her intercourse with theworld--the experience of a chartered tyrant. In the brief sixmonths of her married life with the man whose grand-daughter shemight have been--and ought to have been--she had only to lift herfinger to be obeyed. The doting old husband was the willing slaveof the petulant young wife's slightest caprice. At a laterperiod, when society offered its triple welcome to her birth, herbeauty, and her wealth--go where she might, she found herself theobject of the same prostrate admiration among the suitors whovied with each other in the rivalry for her hand. For the firsttime in her life she encountered a man with a will of his ownwhen she met Geoffrey Delamayn at Swanhaven Lodge.

Geoffrey's occupation of the moment especially favored theconflict between the woman's assertion of her influence and theman's assertion of his will.

During the days that had intervened between his return to hisbrother's house and the arrival of the trainer, Geoffrey hadsubmitted himself to all needful preliminaries of the physicaldiscipline which was to prepare him for the race. He knew, byprevious experience, what exercise he ought to take, what hourshe ought to keep, what temptations at the table he was bound toresist. Over and over again Mrs. Glenarm tried to lure him intocommitting infractions of his own discipline--and over and overagain the influence with men which had never failed her beforefailed her now. Nothing she could say, nothing she could do,would move _this_ man. Perry arrived; and Geoffrey's defiance ofevery attempted exercise of the charming feminine tyranny, towhich every one else had bowed, grew more outrageous and moreimmovable than ever. Mrs. Glenarm became as jealous of Perry asif Perry had been a woman. She flew into passions; she burst intotears; she flirted with other men; she threatened to leave thehouse. All quite useless! Geoffrey never once missed anappointment with Perry; never once touched any thing to eat ordrink that she could offer him, if Perry had forbidden it. Noother human pursuit is so hostile to the influence of the sex asthe pursuit of athletic sports. No men are so entirely beyond thereach of women as the men whose lives are passed in thecultivation of their own physical strength. Geoffrey resistedMrs. Glenarm without the slightest effort. He casually extortedher admiration, and undesignedly forced her respect. She clung tohim, as a hero; she recoiled from him, as a brute; she struggledwith him, submitted to him, despised him, adored him, in abreath. And the clew to it all, confused and contradictory as itseemed, lay in one simple fact--Mrs. Glenarm had found hermaster.

"Take me to the lake, Geoffrey!" she said, with a little pleadingpressure of the blush-colored hand.

Geoffrey looked at his watch. "Perry expects me in twentyminutes," he said.

"Perry again!"

"Yes."

Mrs. Glenarm raised her fan, in a sudden outburst of fury, andbroke it with one smart blow on Geoffrey's face.

"There!" she cried, with a stamp of her foot. "My poor fanbroken! You monster, all through you!"

Geoffrey coolly took the broken fan and put it in his pocket."I'll write to London," he said, "and get you another. Comealong! Kiss, and make it up."

He looked over each shoulder, to make sure that they were alonethen lifted her off the ground (she was no light weight), heldher up in the air like a baby, and gave her a rough loud-soundingkiss on each cheek. "With kind compliments from yours truly!" hesaid--and burst out laughing, and put her down again.

"How dare you do that?" cried Mrs. Glenarm. "I shall claim Mrs.Delamayn's protection if I am to be insulted in this way! I willnever forgive you, Sir!" As she said those indignant words sheshot a look at him which flatly contradicted them. The nextmoment she was leaning on his arm, and was looking at himwonderingly, for the thousandth time, as an entire novelty in herexperience of male human kind. "How rough you are, Geoffrey!" shesaid, softly. He smiled in recognition of that artless homage tothe manly virtue of his character. She saw the smile, andinstantly made another effort to dispute the hateful supremacy ofPerry. "Put him off!" whispere d the daughter of Eve, determinedto lure Adam into taking a bite of the apple. "Come, Geoffrey,dear, never mind Perry, this once. Take me to the lake!"

Geoffrey looked at his watch. "Perry expects me in a quarter ofan hour," he said.

Mrs. Glenarm's indignation assumed a new form. She burst outcrying. Geoffrey surveyed her for a moment with a broad stare ofsurprise--and then took her by both arms, and shook her!

"Look here!" he said, impatiently. "Can you coach me through mytraining?"

"I would if I could!"

"That's nothing to do with it! Can you turn me out, fit, on theday of the race? Yes? or No?"

"No."

"Then dry your eyes and let Perry do it."

Mrs. Glenarm dried her eyes, and made another effort.

"I'm not fit to be seen," she said. "I'm so agitated, I don'tknow what to do. Come indoors, Geoffrey--and have a cup of tea."

Geoffrey shook his head. "Perry forbids tea," he said, "in themiddle of the day."

"You brute!" cried Mrs. Glenarm.

"Do you want me to lose the race?" retorted Geoffrey.

"Yes!"

With that answer she left him at last, and ran back into thehouse.

Geoffrey took a turn on the terrace--considered alittle--stopped--and looked at the porch under which the iratewidow had disappeared from his view. "Ten thousand a year," hesaid, thinking of the matrimonial prospect which he was placingin peril. "And devilish well earned," he added, going into thehouse, under protest, to appease Mrs. Glenarm.

The offended lady was on a sofa, in the solitary drawing-room.Geoffrey sat down by her. She declined to look at him. "Don't bea fool!" said Geoffrey, in his most persuasive manner. Mrs.Glenarm put her handkerchief to her eyes. Geoffrey took it awayagain without ceremony. Mrs. Glenarm rose to leave the room.Geoffrey stopped her by main force. Mrs. Glenarm threatened tosummon the servants. Geoffrey said, "All right! I don't care ifthe whole house knows I'm fond of you!" Mrs. Glenarm looked atthe door, and whispered "Hush! for Heaven's sake!" Geoffrey puther arm in his, and said, "Come along with me: I've got somethingto say to you." Mrs. Glenarm drew back, and shook her head.Geoffrey put his arm round her waist, and walked her out of theroom, and out of the house--taking the direction, not of theterrace, but of a fir plantation on the opposite side of thegrounds. Arrived among the trees, he stopped and held up awarning forefinger before the offended lady's face. "You're justthe sort of woman I like," he said; "and there ain't a man livingwho's half as sweet on you as I am. You leave off bullying meabout Perry, and I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll let you see metake a Sprint."

He drew back a step, and fixed his big blue eyes on her, with alook which said, "You are a highly-favored woman, if ever therewas one yet!" Curiosity instantly took the leading place amongthe emotions of Mrs. Glenarm. "What's a Sprint, Geoffrey?" sheasked.

"A short run, to try me at the top of my speed. There ain'tanother living soul in all England that I'd let see it but you._Now_ am I a brute?"

Mrs. Glenarm was conquered again, for the hundredth time atleast. She said, softly, "Oh, Geoffrey, if you could only bealways like this!" Her eyes lifted themselves admiringly to his.She took his arm again of her own accord, and pressed it with aloving clasp. Geoffrey prophetically felt the ten thousand a yearin his pocket. "Do you really love me?" whispered Mrs. Glenarm."Don't I!" answered the hero. The peace was made, and the twowalked on again.

They passed through the plantation, and came out on some openground, rising and falling prettily, in little hillocks andhollows. The last of the hillocks sloped down into a smooth levelplain, with a fringe of sheltering trees on its fartherside--with a snug little stone cottage among the trees--and witha smart little man, walking up and down before the cottage,holding his hands behind him. The level plain was the hero'sexercising ground; the cottage was the hero's retreat; and thesmart little man was the hero's trainer.

If Mrs. Glenarm hated Perry, Perry (judging by appearances) wasin no danger of loving Mrs. Glenarm. As Geoffrey approached withhis companion, the trainer came to a stand-still, and staredsilently at the lady. The lady, on her side, declined to observethat any such person as the trainer was then in existence, andpresent in bodily form on the scene.

"How about time?" said Geoffrey.

Perry consulted an elaborate watch, constructed to mark time tothe fifth of a second, and answered Geoffrey, with his eye allthe while on Mrs. Glenarm.

"You've got five minutes to spare."

"Show me where you run, I'm dying to see it!" said the eagerwidow, taking possession of Geoffrey's arm with both hands.

Geoffrey led her back to a place (marked by a sapling with alittle flag attached to it) at some short distance from thecottage. She glided along by his side, with subtle undulations ofmovement which appeared to complete the exasperation of Perry. Hewaited until she was out of hearing--and then he invoked (let ussay) the blasts of heaven on the fashionably-dressed head of Mrs.Glenarm.

"You take your place there," said Geoffrey, posting her by thesapling. "When I pass you--" He stopped, and surveyed her with agood-humored masculine pity. "How the devil am I to make youunderstand it?" he went on. "Look here! when I pass you, it willbe at what you would call (if I was a horse) full gallop. Holdyour tongue--I haven't done yet. You're to look on after me as Ileave you, to where the edge of the cottage wall cuts the trees.When you have lost sight of me behind the wall, you'll have seenme run my three hundred yards from this flag. You're in luck'sway! Perry tries me at the long Sprint to-day. You understandyou're to stop here? Very well then--let me go and get my toggeryon."

"Sha'n't I see you again, Geoffrey?"

"Haven't I just told you that you'll see me run?"

"Yes--but after that?"

"After that, I'm sponged and rubbed down--and rest in thecottage."

"You'll come to us this evening?"

He nodded, and left her. The face of Perry looked unutterablethings when he and Geoffrey met at the door of the cottage.

"I've got a question to ask you, Mr. Delamayn," said the trainer."Do you want me? or don't you?"

"Of course I want you."

"What did I say when I first come here?" proceeded Perry,sternly. "I said, 'I won't have nobody a looking on at a man I'mtraining. These here ladies and gentlemen may all have made uptheir minds to see you. I've made up my mind not to have nolookers-on. I won't have you timed at your work by nobody but me.I won't have every blessed yard of ground you cover put in thenoospapers. I won't have a living soul in the secret of what youcan do, and what you can't, except our two selves.'--Did I saythat, Mr. Delamayn? or didn't I?"

"All right!"

"Did I say it? or didn't I?"

"Of course you did!"

"Then don't you bring no more women here. It's clean againstrules. And I won't have it."

Any other living creature adopting this tone of remonstrancewould probably have had reason to repent it. But Geoffrey himselfwas afraid to show his temper in the presence of Perry. In viewof the coming race, the first and foremost of British trainerswas not to be trifled with, even by the first and foremost ofBritish athletes.

"She won't come again," said Geoffrey. "She's going away fromSwanhaven in two days' time."

"I've put every shilling I'm worth in the world on you," pursuedPerry, relapsing into tenderness. "And I tell you I felt it! Itcut me to the heart when I see you coming along with a woman atyour heels. It's a fraud on his backers, I says to myself--that'swhat it is, a fraud on his backers!"

"Shut up!" said Geoffrey. "And come and help me to win yourmoney." He kicked open the door of the cottage--and athlete andtrainer disappeared from view.

After waiting a few minutes by the little flag, Mrs. Glenarm sawthe two men approaching her from the cottage. Dressed in aclose-fitting costume, light and elastic, adapting itself toevery movement, and made to answer every purpose required by theexercise in which he was abo ut to engage, Geoffrey's physicaladvantages showed themselves in their best and bravest aspect.His head sat proud and easy on his firm, white throat, bared tothe air. The rising of his mighty chest, as he drew in deepdraughts of the fragrant summer breeze; the play of his lithe andsupple loins; the easy, elastic stride of his straight andshapely legs, presented a triumph of physical manhood in itshighest type. Mrs. Glenarm's eyes devoured him in silentadmiration. He looked like a young god of mythology--like astatue animated with color and life. "Oh, Geoffrey!" sheexclaimed, softly, as he went by. He neither answered, norlooked: he had other business on hand than listening to softnonsense. He was gathering himself up for the effort; his lipswere set; his fists were lightly clenched. Perry posted himselfat his place, grim and silent, with the watch in his hand.Geoffrey walked on beyond the flag, so as to give himself startenough to reach his full speed as he passed it. "Now then!" saidPerry. In an instant more, he flew by (to Mrs. Glenarm's excitedimagination) like an arrow from a bow. His action was perfect.His speed, at its utmost rate of exertion, preserved its rareunderlying elements of strength and steadiness. Less and less andless he grew to the eyes that followed his course; still lightlyflying over the ground, still firmly keeping the straight line. Amoment more, and the runner vanished behind the wall of thecottage, and the stop-watch of the trainer returned to its placein his pocket.

In her eagerness to know the result, Mrs. Glenarm forget herjealousy of Perry.

"How long has he been?" she asked.

"There's a good many besides you would be glad to know that,"said Perry.

"Mr. Delamayn will tell me, you rude man!"

"That depends, ma'am, on whether _I_ tell _him._"

With this reply, Perry hurried back to the cottage.

Not a word passed while the trainer was attending to his man, andwhile the man was recovering his breath. When Geoffrey had beencarefully rubbed down, and clothed again in his ordinarygarments, Perry pulled a comfortable easy-chair out of a corner.Geoffrey fell into the chair, rather than sat down in it. Perrystarted, and looked at him attentively.

"Well?" said Geoffrey. "How about the time? Long? short? ormiddling?"

"Very good time," said Perry.

"How long?"

"When did you say the lady was going, Mr. Delamayn?"

"In two days."

"Very well, Sir. I'll tell you 'how long' when the lady's gone."

Geoffrey made no attempt to insist on an immediate reply. Hesmiled faintly. After an interval of less than ten minutes hestretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

"Going to sleep?" said Perry.

Geoffrey opened his eyes with an effort. "No," he said. The wordhad hardly passed his lips before his eyes closed again.

"Hullo!" said Perry, watching him. "I don't like that."

He went closer to the chair. There was no doubt about it. The manwas asleep.

Perry emitted a long whistle under his breath. He stooped andlaid two of his fingers softly on Geoffrey's pulse. The beat wasslow, heavy, and labored. It was unmistakably the pulse of anexhausted man.

The trainer changed color, and took a turn in the room. He openeda cupboard, and produced from it his diary of the preceding year.The entries relating to the last occasion on which he hadprepared Geoffrey for a foot-race included the fullest details.He turned to the report of the first trial, at three hundredyards, full speed. The time was, by one or two seconds, not sogood as the time on this occasion. But the result, afterward, wasutterly different. There it was, in Perry's own words: "Pulsegood. Man in high spirits. Ready, if I would have let him, to runit over again."

Perry looked round at the same man, a year afterward--utterlyworn out, and fast asleep in the chair.

He fetched pen, ink, and paper out of the cupboard, and wrote twoletters--both marked "Private." The first was to a medical man, agreat authority among trainers. The second was to Perry's ownagent in London, whom he knew he could trust. The letter pledgedthe agent to the strictest secrecy, and directed him to backGeoffrey's opponent in the Foot-Race for a sum equal to the sumwhich Perry had betted on Geoffrey himself. "If you have got anymoney of your own on him," the letter concluded, "do as I do.'Hedge'--and hold your tongue."

"Another of 'em gone stale!" said the trainer, looking roundagain at the sleeping man. "He'll lose the race."