THE BLIND MADONNA THE ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDEN LOUIS
It had rained all day, a miserable drizzling rain, cold and foggy.
The horses had remained in the stables, the dogs in the kennels, and the fox in the chicken-coop. I stole out during luncheon to take a look at Master Reynard. He looked shamefaced and bedraggled enough, shut up in that coop. I felt sorry for him, and told Mrs. Chadwick so.
"At least you might have given him a chicken for company," I said. "He looked disgusted with life."
Mrs. Chadwick smiled and remarked that she would see that Master Reynard had his chicken.
"Do you think he would prefer it broiled or baked?"
From then on I had played ping-pong, bridge and billiards, and made violent love to three or four married women because it was safe, and easy, and politic—and exciting. I had an idea for a story, but needed a married woman's opinion as to how it should properly end.
The end was still hidden in a nebulous uncertainty as the colonel (our host) led us men into the armory, with its huge fireplace, its long basswood table upon which we had at various times carved our initials, its gunracks and trophies of the chase. A servant passed around fine Scotch and brandy and soda, with which we proceeded to tonic our appetites; for dinner was to be announced within an hour. I took out my penknife and went on with my uncompleted carving.