'Louis! what is the matter?' cried Mrs. Ponsonby.
'I entirely forgot the right honourable, and marched into the dining-room to tell Aunt Catharine that I have killed a rose-coloured pastor.'
'Killed what?'
'A bird, hardly ever seen in England. I spied him in the fir-wood, went to Warren for a gun, brought him down, and walked on to the House Beautiful, where Miss Faithfull was enchanted. She will copy him, and send him to the bird-stuffer. I looked in to give directions, and old Jenyns was amazed; he never knew one shot here before, so early in the year too. He says we must send the account to the Ornithological—'
'Do you know how wet you are? exclaimed Mrs. Ponsonby, seeing rivulets dropping from his coat.
'I see. It rained all the way home, and was so dark, I could not see the footpath; and when I came in, my eyes were blinded by the light, and my head so full of the pastor, that the other minister never occurred to me, and remains under the impression that I have confessed a sacrilegious murder.'
'You really are incorrigible!' cried Mrs. Ponsonby. 'Why are you not dressing for dinner?'
'Because you are going to give me a cup of your tea.'
'Certainly not. I shall begin to think you purposely mortified your father, when you know he wanted you to be reasonable.'
'The lower species never show off well to strangers,' said Fitzjocelyn, coolly; but, as he lighted his candle, he added, with more candour, 'I beg your pardon—indeed I did not do this on purpose, but don't say anything about appearances—there's something in me that is sure to revolt.'