If it is, I want to tell you that he is not what he pretends." A change came over Mrs.Lancaster's face.
"He is a gentleman," she said coldly.
"Oh, is he?
He was a stage-driver." Mrs.Lancaster drew herself up.
"If he was--" she began.

But she stopped suddenly, glanced beyond Wickersham, and moved over to the further side of the carriage.
Just then a hand was laid on Wickersham's arm, and a voice behind him said: "I beg your pardon." Wickersham knew the voice, and without looking around stood aside for the speaker to make his adieus.

Keith stepped into the carriage and pulled to the door before the footman could close it.
At the sound the impatient horses started off, leaving three men standing in the street looking very blank.

Stirling was the first to speak; he turned to the others in amazement.
"Who is Keith ?" he demanded.
"Oh, a fellow from the South somewhere." "Well, Keith knows his business!" said Mr.Stirling, with a nod of genuine admiration.
Wickersham uttered an imprecation and turned back into the house.
Next day Mr.Stirling caught Wickersham in a group of young men at the club, and told them the story.
"Look out for Keith," he said.

"He gave me a lesson." Wickersham growled an inaudible reply.
"Who was the lady?
Wickersham tries to capture so many prizes, what you say gives us no light," said Mr.Minturn, one of the men.
"Oh, no.