Professor Lawless was a scientist, and, as is common among professors and scientists, very eccentric. A Bachelor of Medicine, he had practised as much or as little as pleased him, and devoted most of his time to the materialisation of experiments that, if perfected, would make his fortune.

Not that it was with this end in view that he laboured, for his means were considerable, and it was his custom to give his services and advice to patients gratis in the majority of cases, although his sister Gay was no advocate of this practice.

"Why don't you put up a notice with "Free Hospital" on it over the door, and have done with the farce of refusing to take fees from people who can well afford them?" she used to ask indignantly. "You forget that it cost a heap of money during the five years you were learning the little you now know"—she laughed, for he was really a walking encyclopædia of learning—"and do you intend to get none of it back?"

Her brother would beam at her through the glasses that were eternally slipping off his nose.

"You are too commercial, Gay," he said. "None of us are infallible, and it would pain me to think that I had taken money for what might, after all, have been a mistaken diagnosis. I have ample means for my wants—which are simple—and I disapprove strongly of the tactics employed by some medical men in accepting fees for ailments which are often imaginary, and more often curable by fresh air and exercise than drugs and knives."

"Oh, you're hopeless," Gay rejoined, and there the argument ended for the time being, much to the Professor's satisfaction.

A remarkably handsome and intellectual-looking man, tall, but with a slight stoop, and with far-away, clear blue eyes that narrowed habitually whenever he looked at anything, possibly through years of close microscopic work, Frank Lawless had a personality (if an untidy one, as Gay said) that compelled people to ask, "Who is that man?"

He seldom left his laboratory and books, though occasionally Gay prevailed upon him to accompany her to some function or other, when he donned a dress-suit of archaic pattern, and, after spoiling a dozen ties, and wandering miserably in and out of his sister's room to ask if "this will do?" waited patiently in the hall, with an obsolete opera-hat held gingerly in one hand, the while he read from a scientific treatise held close to his eyes in the other.

A habit of standing first on one leg, and then on the other, had earned him the nickname of "Heron," and it was thus disrespectfully, but affectionately, that his sister usually addressed him. A man of unbounded possibilities, but indifferent achievements, only a total lack of ambition and enterprise prevented his rolling the ball still at his feet, but, as it was, he had never improved on the fame that came to him when quite a young man.

"The first man in England on his subject," was what his colleagues said of him, "but doesn't seem to push his opportunities; nice fellow, too!" while Frank Lawless himself, after a merciless tirade from Gay, would remark:

"My dear, I have used my brains to the best of my ability. My name is not unknown, and there are some eminent men who seek my opinion still, and value it. I do not wish to become a public character—to be obscure is to be happy—why not leave me to the work I love? I do not remember an instance in which I have interfered with you, though I must confess that some of your exploits—notably hunting, a practice I detest—have caused me some anxiety. Live and let live, my child," and waving a hand that clasped a test-tube, the Professor would flee to the safety of the laboratory, to which haven Gay never intruded, the smells were too awful, she said.

Since the death of their parents, Gay had taken up her abode with her brother in London. The girl was really very fond of him, and though they had few tastes in common, she thought it her duty, as well as her pleasure, to look after him, and, as she expressed it, "dress and wash him up generally."

The arrangement answered admirably. Gay was free as air to go where she liked, and do what she pleased, while the Professor followed his own pursuits, and took a secret delight in being well taken care of, without having to suffer the infliction of a wife.

In fact, so secure did he feel under existing circumstances, that the prospect of their interruption sometimes occurred to him with an unpleasant shock, and the possibility of his sister marrying appalled him. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that she seemed in no hurry, and no one could accuse him of attempting to cross bridges before he met them; his character was rather the reverse, in fact, his impulse being to walk round any obstacle that presented itself, or if this proved impossible, to confront it sideways, and wait till either it removed itself, or someone—usually Gay—came to the rescue.

This disinclination to show a bold front to however trivial a difficulty, was the twin trait to his lack of ambition, and his attitude was pathetic when a worldly problem faced him, for he could no more reprimand or dismiss a worthless servant, than he could in cold blood destroy one of his cherished specimens.

"She does her best, poor thing!" It was thus he one day mildly excused an obstreperous and drunken cook, who had "held up" the whole household. "It must be very trying to stand over a fire all day, you know, and, er—she's only a little excited, is she?"

"She's drunk," Gay said emphatically. "She went for Sanders with the rolling-pin just now. I want you to see her, and tell her that if she's not out of the house, bag and baggage, in an hour, you'll send for the police."

This was, of course, a joke, but Gay spoke so seriously, and appeared so much in earnest, that the Professor felt in immediate danger of participating in a scene, and looked all the fright he felt.

"Of course, my dear, if you think a man's—and a firm man's (the Professor looked more like a jelly just then)—intervention is desirable, I will speak to the cook, and if necessary (he squared his champagne shoulders, and Gay almost laughed as she fancied she heard something crack) I will show her the door."

He looked supplicatingly at Gay, and sidled towards the nearest exit himself.

"If you want me," he continued hurriedly, "I shall be in my laboratory; I am in the middle of a very delicate experiment," and with the last words, his coat-tails vanished round the corner. Gay smiled as she heard the laboratory door hastily closed, and the key turned.

"Old funk!" she said elegantly. "Afraid of his own shadow! I do believe he'd rather be run over than hold up his hand, for fear of hurting the motor-man's feelings!"

Then she laughed, and proceeded downstairs to tackle the cook herself.

The breakfast-room in Connaught Square was a pleasant apartment, and on the morning after the Trotting Meeting, when Frank had finished breakfast, and taken up his customary morning attitude before the fire, Gay leaned her elbows on the table, framed her pretty, fresh face in the hollow of her hands, and opened the ball.

"Frank, dear," she said, "I have something to tell you."

The Professor passed his hand lightly over his face, touching it in three places. He always did this when his attention was required, and many people thought he was crossing himself, and unjustly suspected him of ritualistic tendencies.

"Yes, my dear?" he inquired. "Nothing unpleasant, I hope?" Turning to the glass he looked apprehensively at his sister's reflection, and was discomfited when she caught him.

"Quite the reverse," she said. "It's this: I'm going to buy and race some Trotting horses!"

And now, thought she, for a homily on sport and the evils of the turf! But she was disappointed.

"Why specify the horse with a superfluous adjective?" he inquired. "All horses trot, don't they? It is their natural pace—or one of them. Try to be accurate, my dear girl."

Gay laughed pityingly.

"Trotting horses are a distinct breed, old boy," she said, "and they trot against each other for prizes; trot, you understand, or pace—there are square-gaited horses—those that trot like a cab-horse, only faster, you know—and pacers, which move both legs on the same side in unison. Like this, you know"—she got up from her chair, and tried to illustrate her meaning by walking across the room, moving the right arm and right leg together, repeating the performance on the left side.

Frank Lawless looked on with suddenly awakened scientific interest.

"I was under the impression that only giraffes moved in that way," he said. "Surely horses cannot go very fast with an action like that?"

"Fast enough to do a mile in one minute fifty-five seconds or less, anyway," Gay replied. "It is such a pretty sight to watch, they wear such funny boots sometimes, and hobbles and sheepskins, and—and—things," she finished lamely for want of more knowledge regarding pacers' equipment.

"Ah, yes, quite so," Frank Lawless agreed, "but—er—racing, you know. My experience of it has been limited, I confess, (the Professor's knowledge of racing was confined to two or three occasional turfites who came to him professionally), but I am given to understand that its followers are, to say the least of it, unscrupulous. I am not a prig, Gay, but I have seen life in my time"—he looked at himself knowingly in the glass, while Gay laughed inwardly—"and I flatter myself I am a man of the world, therefore I fear I cannot give my consent to your proposal."

The last remark was uttered with all the timidity of an assumed authority, and as he spoke, he lapsed into the one-legged attitude which had earned him his nickname.

"My proposal, as you call it, is a foregone conclusion, dear Heron," Gay answered smartly, "and with all sisterly respect for you, I would remark that I invariably make up my mind—both our minds sometimes—beforehand, and acquaint you with the result after. Carlton Mackrell has promised me his assistance and advice, and as soon as I can get hold of a few good horses, I mean to start. The Trotting season's young yet—perhaps later on, as a special treat, I'll take you to see a race."

"Mr. Mackrell?" he said irritably. "Well, well, a rich idler is bound to take up some fad, I suppose—but why be a sporting man, without two ideas in your head? An interesting animal, no doubt, of the same type as your friend, Chris Hannen, but—

"Oh," cried Gay with spirit, for she resented the sneer, "it's these 'interesting animals,' as you are pleased to call them, from the lofty heights of ineffectual science, who do the work of the world, the work that counts. It is the sportsmen of England who know how to rise to an emergency, and overcome it, old boy—these very same brainless men whom you so contemptuously patronise, by their pluck and determination, form the very bulwark of England when fighting has to be done!"

"But I fail to see any object in sport," reiterated her brother obstinately, "especially horse-racing and—er—Trotting matches. Where does it lead to, and what good purpose does it serve?"

"It improves the breed of a noble animal, and teaches the men who ride it self-reliance and resource," Gay flashed back, "to say nothing of making them hard—a soft man is every decent woman's abomination!"

The Professor shifted his feet uneasily, and glanced at his watch; it was his invariable rule to run away when getting the worst of an argument. He had no power to hinder Gay from making ducks and drakes of her two thousand a year, and he sighed as he reflected that she was already more than a little original in some of her ideas and speech; but he also knew that the charm of the girl overshadowed all else, and that whatever she said or did, seldom drew forth a more severe censure than "Oh, that's Gay Lawless all over, you know," from anyone whose opinion mattered.

Gay, in fact, possessed a soul which she described as "superior to public opinion or example—good or bad, especially good," and so long as what she said and did harmed no one, and she performed such duties as her station required of her, she felt answerable to none.

When he had left the room with his usual silent shuffle, the girl, quite unconscious of the pretty picture she made, talked confidentially to her reflection in the glass.

"Awful pity dear old Frank isn't more of an outdoor man," she said aloud, then her face grew serious as she remembered the fate of her four other brothers, all killed in the open, two fighting, and two in search of adventure.

"He's the only one of us all without the sporting instinct, and what's worse, is bigoted against every kind of sport for others. He can't help his nature, I suppose; but oh! I do wish he could understand all that the sight of the country, and growing things, and horses mean to me!"

Unconsciously Gay for a long time had felt the want of a sympathetic companion, or, as she would have expressed it, a pal, for, fond as she was of her brother, he was not an ideal listener when she lived over again a great run to hounds, or described a spirited game of polo at Hurlingham.

He always accorded her that polite inattention which checks confidences, and freezes enthusiasm, and Lossie Holden, Gay's cousin and enforced intimate, loathed sport in every shape and form, while Effie Bulteel, a sportswoman after Gay's own heart, was too constantly her husband's companion to have much time for anyone else. Thus, on the principle that we are nearly always furthest from those we love, Gay did not see half so much of her friend as she wished, while having to endure far more of her cousin Lossie's company than she either desired or deserved.

Dismissing the subject with a shrug of her shoulders, the girl started to attend to those household duties in which she was an adept, and retired below stairs to plan out the day's food, more especially the dinner. Then she did the flowers, of which there was always a profusion in the house, for Gay was a real lover of Nature, and to watch the different gradations of colour in the spring was a constant delight to her, though when leaf and flower came to their full growth and perfection, all rushing out on the top of each other, she lost interest in, and quaintly denounced them, as "vulgar."

Suddenly it occurred to her that she and Frank had not given one of their cosy little dinners for some time—why not have one soon, asking Carlton Mackrell and Chris Hannen, with the inevitable Lossie to make up the party? The Professor did not count, and in any case Gay would have found it difficult to find another girl—all those she knew were either too fast or too slow for her taste, and it must be confessed that while she bore her own sex no ill-will, she infinitely preferred the society of men.

"You can never tell a woman all your secrets as you can a man," she used to say, and Lossie was fond of quoting this remark, and telling everyone that Gay hated women—the deduction being that from close personal observation of her own character, she found all her sisters as hateful as herself.

Yet Gay looked no "cat" as she ran to her writing-table; in these days when the streets are filled with fine athletic woman, but the dear little girl, with her smile, her blush, her little foot and hand, her gracious ways, her thanks for some small service rendered, appears to have vanished from the haunts of men, one such girl at least, as more than one man knew, was to be found at a certain house in Connaught Square.

When she had penned the three invitations, she fell to thinking, then presently destroyed two out of the three she had written.

"Carlton Mackrell shall come alone, and convert Frank," she said aloud; "besides, he and Chris would be sure to fall out over the rival merits of racing and trotting"; but she sighed as she rang for the letter to be posted.

For Chris was such rattling good company, he would describe things in a manner that brought tears of laughter into the eyes of his listeners, such readiness, such a knack of creating sunshine wherever he went, Gay never found in anyone else—it was a mere coincidence, of course, that he found no other company in the world so delightful as Gay's!