'To a certain extent we shall—but why?'
'Shall I bring the luncheon here?'
'Yes, pet, to Finella's Well.'
'So, then, this shall be our trysting-place!' said she, with a bow to all, and a merry glance which included most certainly Vivian Hammersley, to whom the landscape seemed to darken with her departure.
'Now is the time for shooting to advantage,' said Lord Fettercairn, who knew by old experience that when the afternoon shadows, and more especially those of evening, begin to lengthen, the slopes of the hills are seen better, that the birds, too, lie better, and that as the air becomes more fresh and cool, men can shoot with greater care and deliberation than in the heat of noon. But Hammersley, full of his own thoughts, full of the image of Finella and that tale-telling glance they had exchanged, missed nearly every bird, to the great exultation of Shafto, who made an incredible number of bad and clumsy jokes thereon—jokes which the young Englishman heard with perfect indifference and equanimity.
Shafto, however, scarcely foresaw the result of the next day's expedition, and certainly Hammersley did not do so either.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TWO FINELLAS.
Next day, when the grouse-shooting had been in progress for an hour or two, a mishap occurred to Hammersley. He twisted his ankle in a turnip-field, fell heavily on one side, and staggered up too lame to take further share in the sport for that day at least.
'When Finella comes with the lunch in the pony-phaeton, she will drive you home,' said Lord Fettercairn, who then desired one of the beaters to give Hammersley the assistance of an arm to the well, where the repast was to be laid out as before.