'I have close on 5,000 acres, and the probable bag of grouse and black game is from 400 to 500 brace.'
After dinner that evening Finella was found singing at the piano—singing, as she always did, without requiring pressure and apparently for the mere pleasure of it, as a thrush on a rose bush sings; but now she sang for Vivian Hammersley, Shafto felt instinctively that she did so, and his bitterness was roused when he heard her, in a pause, whisper:
'Please, Captain Hammersley, let Shafto turn the leaves. He likes to do it, though he can do little else in the way of music.'
This kind of confidence seemed to imply foregone conclusions and a mutual understanding, however slight; but, to some extent, Finella had a kind of dread of Shafto.
Hammersley smiled and drew back, after placing a piece of music before her; but not before remarking:
'This song you are about to sing is not a new one.'
'No—it is old as the days when George IV. was king—it is one you gave me some weeks ago in London, you remember?'
'Am I likely to forget?'
'Turn the leaves, Shafto, please,' said Finella, adjusting her dress over the music-stool; 'but don't talk to me.'
'Why?'