Drake rode over to the Grange for breakfast, according to his promise.
He was glad of the ride, glad of an hour or two in which he could think
over the dramatic events of the preceding night, and, so to speak, clear
his brain of the unpleasant glamour which Lady Luce's words and behavior
had produced.

Not for a moment did he swerve from his allegiance to Nell; never for a
moment did the splendor of Luce's beauty, the trick of her soft voice,
her passionate caress, eclipse the starlike purity of Nell's nature and
personality. If it were possible, he loved Nell better and more
devotedly, longed for her more ardently, since his meeting with Luce,
than he had done before.

All the way to the Grange he rehearsed what he would say to Nell when he
rode back to The Cottage. He would tell her everything; would beg her to
forgive him for his deception, his concealment of his full name and
title, and--yes, he would admit that he had once loved, or thought that
he had loved, Lady Luce; but that now----Well, there was only one woman
in the world for him, and that was Nell.

He found Sir William standing on the lawn, dressed in riding cords of
the good old kind, loose in fit and yellow in color, and surrounded by
dogs of divers shapes and various breeds. He was as ruddy-cheeked and
bright-eyed as if he had been to bed last night at ten o'clock, and he
scanned the well-set-up Drake as he rode up, with a nod of approval.