"I think not," Mordaunt answered in a quiet voice.
"Oh, well," remarked another. "I suppose there is no more to be said."
Mordaunt lighted a fresh cigarette. "I want you to understand. Jim Dearham is my relation, but I feel my responsibility. He is a good sort and I am not stating much to his disadvantage when I admit that he is not the proper man to take the hounds. He has not yet cultivated our sense of sport and his notions are utilitarian. I'm afraid he'd grumble about broken fences and trampled crops. Then, for example, he's dyking the marsh."
"Exactly!" said one. "I imagine we do understand. Well, we must ask Watson of Red Bank. He's rich enough and ambitious, although he's not altogether the man I'd like."
They agreed, and soon afterwards Dick came in and asked Mordaunt: "Why didn't you stop for me, as you promised?"
"I did stop. I waited some minutes."
"Then you must have come before the time."
"Look at your watch," said Mordaunt, who took out his. "I got the time at the station this afternoon."
Dick said it did not matter much and asked whom they meant to make the master of hounds.
"Watson, of Red Bank," one replied, and began to talk about something else when he had filled a glass for Dick. The latter was young and sometimes indiscreet; it was better he should not know what Mordaunt had said.