"It is very long since we met at Harley, and I began to think you were going to forget me again, Comtesse!"
"Is that why you came here?"
"Yes—and because they tell me your keeper can show at least a hundred and fifty brace of partridges each day!"
"Augustus was right, then."
"What about?"
"He said you would come because of the number of the birds. I—I—felt sure you would be engaged."
"Your note was not cordial nor cousinly, and I was engaged, but the attraction of the game, as Mr. Gurrage says, decided me."
His smile had never looked so mocking nor his eyes so kind.
"Might I trouble you for a second cup, please, Mrs. Gussie?" the female Dodd interrupted, loudly, from half across the room, "Mr. McCormack is taking it over to you. And a little stronger this time, please. I don't care for this new-fangled taste for weak tea—dish-water, I call it—only fit for the jaded digestions of worn-out worldly women."
"Who owns this fog-horn?" my kinsman whispered. "Will it come out shooting to-morrow? The game-book record will be considerably lower if so!"