"Now, that's good of you. But don't be too liberal with your promises. I may take you at your word."
"Try me!" cried Dick. "I should like to do something to atone. Not that I can give it up," he added, with a laugh. "I simply couldn't, you know. But—but——"
"And how are you going to spend your time?" asked Lord Huntingford. "We are living in a critical age."
"I shall make something turn up!" Dick cried heartily, "as soon as I know where I am."
"And, meanwhile, I suppose you motor, ride, shoot, golf, and all the rest of it?" asked Lady Blanche.
"I have all the vices," Dick told her.
"You say you golf?"
"Yes, a little. Would you give me a match?" he ventured.
"I'd love to," and her eyes flashed into his.
The next afternoon Dick met Lady Blanche on the golf links, and before the match was over he believed that he was in love with her. Never before had he met such a glorious specimen of physical womanhood. To him her every movement was poetry, her lithe, graceful body a thing in which to rejoice.