"Why, sure," he replied, "I like all animals. That's what I don't understand about you over here," he continued.
"But we love animals," said Mrs. West.
"I mean stag and fox-hunting." There was a hard note in his voice. "If I had a place in this country and anyone came around hunting foxes on my land, there'd be enough trouble to keep the whole place from going to sleep for the next month."
"What should you do?" enquired Dorothy wickedly.
"Well, if anything had to be killed that day it wouldn't be the fox."
"I'm afraid you wouldn't be very popular with your neighbours," said Dorothy.
"I don't care a pea-nut whether I'm popular or not," he said grimly; "but they'd have to sort of learn that if they wanted to run foxes, they must go somewhere else than on my land."
Dorothy decided that the English county that opened its gates to John Dene would have an unexpectedly exciting time. Mentally she pictured him, a revolver in each hand, holding up a whole fox-hunt, the sudden reining in of horses, the shouting of the huntsman and the master, whilst the dogs streamed across the country after their quarry. Perhaps it was as well, she decided, that John Dene had no intention of settling in England.
"This has been fine," said John Dene after a long silence, during which the three seemed content to enjoy the beauty of the afternoon. "I wonder if you——" Then he paused, as he looked across at Mrs. West.
"You wonder if I would what, Mr. Dene?" she asked with a smile.