brightening with suppressed mischief. "But I half suspect."

"What?"

"Oh, all sorts of things, Kemp."

"What's one of 'em?" asked Ferrall, looking around at her; but his wife
only laughed.

"You don't mean she's throwing her flies at Siward--now that you've
hooked Quarrier for her! I thought she'd played him to the gaff--"

"Please don't be coarse, Kemp," said Mrs. Ferrall, sending her horse
forward. Her husband spurred to her side, and without turning her head
she continued: "Of course Sylvia won't be foolish. If they were only
safely married; but Howard is such a pill--"

"What does Sylvia expect with Howard's millions? A man?"

Grace Ferrall drew bridle. "The curious thing is, Kemp, that she liked
him."

"Likes him?"

"No, liked him. I saw how it was; she took his silences for intellectual
meditation, his gallery, his library, his smatterings for expressions of
a cultivated personality. Then she remembered how close she came to
running off with that cashiered Englishman, and that scared her into
clutching the substantial in the shape of Howard. . Still, I wish I
hadn't meddled."