Those who thought they knew their Gay, and that she was humbled, penitent, and willing to amend her "trotting" ways, speedily found themselves mistaken on this point, and the first to whom she gave a taste of her quality was the unhappy Professor, who entered the breakfast-room next day, gibbering, and extending towards her an illustrated morning paper.
Gay took it calmly from his hand, but a flush of anger rose to her cheek as she saw that, whether from spite or ignorance, the artist had maliciously altered the position of her feet, a pose emphasised by the devil-may-care look in the pretty, saucy face turned impudently over her shoulder.
"Somebody who doesn't like me, evidently," said Gay, sitting down at the head of the table, and commencing to pour out coffee. "Wonder if it's anyone Lossie knows?"
"Hardened! Shameless!" sputtered the Professor, walking to and fro and wringing his hands. Gay felt glad Chris was not there, as he used to get behind the Professor, and wring his in imitation, convulsing her.
"I insist on it," cried her brother, "that you wire your trainer instantly to 'scratch'—I believe that is the expression—your horses for all future meetings, and I will take you abroad till this shocking scandal is forgotten. Why, even there, we shan't be safe, for you will be lampooned on the boulevards—an English lady driving like a stable-boy—in a man's attitude"—his voice rose to a shriek as Gay walked to the chafing-dishes on the sideboard, and helped herself to bacon.
"Shouldn't wonder if I get mentioned as a 'horrible example' from a pulpit or two," she said placidly, "and probably there will be several fancy sketches of me driving really like a boy—in one of those old-fashioned sulkies where you can't even see your horse's head, and have to guide him by faith and a double squint. Have some kidneys, Heron? They're awfully good."
But the angry Professor waved away the proffered delicacy, and resumed his wind-mill antics up and down the room, thereby getting on Gay's nerves.
"Look here, Heron," she said quietly, "it may save trouble if you will just grasp the fact that my horses will not be withdrawn, that their engagements will be fulfilled, and that I shall be present at all the meetings, and if you don't care to chaperon me, I'll find someone who will."
"Lossie won't!" screamed the Professor, now almost beside himself at this flat rebellion, "nor Mrs. Bulteel either! You've never been able to persuade her to set foot on a Trotting course—even if she were willing, Tom Bulteel wouldn't let her!"
It was true, and Gay thought it horrid of Effie; then her soft little face hardened, and she shot her bolt.