“Oh, is she?”
“She has been brought up with her brothers, and has even been allowed to go out with the guns. I believe she is an excellent shot.”
“What does she shoot?” Rose enquired with the first spark of interest that Miss Grierson-Amberly had succeeded in rousing within her.
Lady Aviolet looked rather astonished. “Just what they all do, my dear—rabbits, or partridges, or pheasants, as the case may be. No big-game shooting, or anything like that, of course. She is only about your own age.”
“Oh,” said Rose.
“Is there any one whom you would care to ask here for a day or two’s shooting, perhaps?”
Lady Aviolet’s tone held not the slightest hint that she had debated the propriety of this rather rash invitation for several days before giving it, and had finally done so against the advice of her husband.
Rose was astonished and grateful.
“Thank you very much. It’s very kind of you. But there isn’t anybody. I don’t know anybody, you see. My uncle couldn’t leave his business, and besides, I don’t suppose he can shoot. Besides, him and me had rather a row before I left England, and I haven’t seen him since, although we’ve sort of made it up by letter.”
“Perhaps he will come another time, when the guns are not busy,” said Lady Aviolet impassively.