Jacques and his broncho came no more, or if they did it was at
unseasonable hours, and then to be often reprimanded (and twice arrested)
for furious riding. Gaston had a bad moment when he told Jacques that he
need not come with him again. He did it casually, but, cool as he was,
a cold sweat came on his cheek. He had to take a little brandy to steady
himself--yet he had looked into menacing rifle-barrels more than once
without a tremor. It was clear, on the face of it, that Delia and her
mother should be his companions in the Park, and not this grave little
half-breed; but, somehow, it got on his nerves. He hesitated for days
before he could cast the die against Jacques. It had been the one open
bond of the old life; yet the man was but a servant, and to be treated as
such, and was, indeed, except on rarest occasions. If Delia had known
that Gaston balanced the matter between her and Jacques, her indignation
might perhaps have sent matters to a crisis. But Gaston did the only
possible thing; and the weeks drifted on.

Happy? It was inexplicable even to himself that at times, when he left
Delia, he said unconsciously: "Well, it's a pity!"

But she was happy in her way. His dark, mysterious face with its
background of abstraction, his unusual life, distinguished presence,
and the fact that people of great note sought his conversation, all
strengthened the bonds, and deepened her imagination; and imagination is
at the root of much that passes for love. Gaston was approached at Lord
Dargan's house by the Premier himself. It was suggested that he should
stand for a constituency in the Conservative interest. Lord Faramond,
himself picturesque, acute, with a keen knowledge of character and a
taste for originality, saw material for a useful supporter--fearless,
independent, with a gift for saying ironical things, and some primitive
and fundamental principles well digested.