“There are sheep up here.”
“Too many, considering that it’s a grouse-moor; but what of it? They don’t belong to us.”
“They belong to somebody who would rather they didn’t stray,” Lisle rejoined. “In the country I come from, it’s considered a serious transgression to knock over another person’s fence and not put it up again.”
He calmly went on with his task, and sitting down she took out a silver cigarette-case. After a minute or two she looked up at him.
“You’re doing that very neatly,” she remarked.
“I’ve done something of the kind for a living,” Lisle informed her.
“Oh! It’s curious that you seem proud of it. In this case, I don’t mind your keeping me, because they can’t drive up the birds until we have crossed the higher moor. It will annoy Gladwyne and his keeper, and I’m not pleased with either of them. I wanted Flo Marple’s station at the first butts.”
Lisle considered this. He had wondered why she had favored him with her company, when, although her previous companion had deserted her, she could by hurrying a little have joined the others. The butts were not spaced very far apart. Their late occupants had, however, now vanished into a dip of the moor. He asked himself why a girl with her assurance should have troubled to offer him an explanation.
When he had finished the repairs to the wall, they went on, and a little later he heard a sharp “Cruck—cruck-curruck,” to one side of him. Swinging around, he saw a grouse skimming the heather.
“A pair of gloves to a sovereign that you miss!” cried his companion.