“I'm sorry, Trixy, but I've really got to leave,” said Mrs. Chandos. “And I'm in such a predicament! I promised Fanny Darlington I'd go over there, and it's eight miles, and both my horses are lame.”
Brent turned to his coachman.
“Put a pair in the victoria right away and drive Mrs. Chandos to Mrs. Darlington's,” he said.
She looked at him, and her lip quivered.
“You always were the soul of generosity, Trixy, but why the victoria?”
“My dear Lula,” he replied, “if there's any other carriage you prefer—?”
Honora did not hear the answer, which at any rate was scarcely audible. She moved away, and her eyes continued to follow Vercingetorix as he trotted about the tan-bark after a groom. And presently she was aware that Trixton Brent was standing beside her.
“What do you think of him?” he asked.
“He's adorable,” declared Honora. “Would you like to try him?”
“Oh—might I? Sometime?”