"Not to-night," I interposed. "Nobby's bagged it."
With the laugh of a maniac, my brother-in-law requested that the facts should be laid before the Sealyham, and the latter desired to waive his rights.
"Of course," he concluded, "if you want me to become verminous, just say so."
There was a shriek of laughter.
"And now be quick," said Daphne, "or we shall be late for the meet.
And I particularly want to see Sally."
Sarah Featherstone was the possessor of the coveted shawl.
We had met her by chance upon the boulevard two days before. No one of us had had any idea that she was not in Ireland, whither she had retired upon her marriage, and where her passion for hunting kept her most of the year, and when we learned that she had already spent six months in the Pyrenees, and would be at Pau all the winter, we could hardly believe our ears. Her little son, it appeared, had been ailing, and the air of the Pyrenees was to make him well. So their summer had been passed in the mountains, and, with three good hunters from Ireland, the winter was to be supported under the shadow of the healing hills.
"It hurts me to think of Ireland, but I'm getting to love this place. I want the rain on my face sometimes, and the earth doesn't smell so sweet; but the sun's a godsend—I've never seen it before—and the air makes me want to shout. Oh, I've got a lot to be thankful for. Peter's put on a stone and a half to date, George'll be out for Christmas, and, now that you've come to stay…"
We were all glad of Sarah—till yesterday.
Now, however, she had set up a golden calf, which our womenkind were worshipping out of all reason and convenience.