The year before, apparently, the party had been composed of indifferent marksmen, and the head keeper had spoken rather sarcastically upon the subject.
Augustus, when not bullying them, stands in great awe of his servants.
"I am afraid, with only this short notice, there is little chance of
Sir Antony being disengaged," I remarked.
I somehow felt as if I did not want him to come to Ledstone. He would be so ridiculously out of place here.
"A keen shot would throw over any invitation he had had previously for such a chance as my two best days," Augustus replied, pompously, helping himself to a second kidney and smearing it with mustard. "You just write this morning, and ask him to wire reply."
"Very well," I said, reluctantly. He would certainly be engaged though I need not fear, "I had a note from yesterday, saying he had returned from Scotland, and asking us to go over soon and pay our promised visit to dine and sleep."
"There! I'll bet he was fishing for an invitation to this shoot," said Augustus, triumphantly. And, not content with the mustard he had already plastered the kidney with, he shook pepper over it, heaping it up upon his knife first and agitating that implement with his fork to make the pepper fall evenly. I do not know why these details of the way he eats should irritate me so.
"Now, mind you catch the early post," he continued, "and tell him who the party are."
At fifteen minutes to eleven I found myself still staring irresolutely at the sheet of note-paper lying before me on the writing-table in my boudoir. It had the date written, and "Dear Sir Antony." The rest was a blank.
The little, brand-new Dresden clock on the mantel-piece chimed the three-quarters. The post leaves at eleven. I took up the pen and dashed at it.