Gheena explained softly. Mr. Freyne, smeared with green, remounted with bitter dignity and noisy comment.
The woods behind the house soon rang with the towling harrier note, until Grandjer, rushing out, pinned a small yellow fox which had one paw badly injured.
"Those dreadful men on the cliffs," said Mr. Freyne pompously. "Dreadful—my foxes!"
Looney Rooney, limping through the crowd, muttered "Shopman's rabbits!" happily, and grinned at Darby.
"Dirty German thing, trapping!" said Darby curtly. "If Lindlay comes back and finds out who does this, he'll make Huns of them for the time being, I tell you."
Mr. Freyne nursed the cheek injured by the croquet hoop and remained silent.
They drew on through the long wood at the foot of the hill, trying every yard of it, monotony varied by the occasional slaying of a rabbit by Grandjer or Beauty, both adepts at it. Wherever Darby rode, little Miss Psyche was on his heels. To be with the Master was hunting for her.
She squealed nearly as loud as the rabbits when the hounds gave tongue and were rated; she wailed for a hunt. She put her horse over fallen trunks of trees and piped shrilly that she had learnt to sit on at the jumps. She viewed a squirrel with a "Tally ho!" which made the wood ring.
"Now look here!" said Darby firmly. "That's not a fox. And I'll do the hollering away."
"It had a long tail," said Miss Delorme equally firmly, "and it was red. And suppose I see a fox and you don't see the fox, am I to say nothing because I am not sure it is a fox?"