'To shoot?'
'Yes—on Roland's invitation.'
'There may be something else shot than partridges.'
'Elliot—Captain Elliot?'
'Yes—that was the name on her letter.'
'Well—you must not quarrel with him—that would be unseemly.'
'My dear Deb, I never quarrel with those I hate,' was the comprehensive and sinister reply of Hawkey Sharpe, with his most diabolical expression; 'and though I have never seen this interloper Elliot, I feel a most ungodly hatred of him already.'
'I repeat that no good can come of a vulgar quarrel, and that you must not forget the proprieties. What would the servants alone say or think?'
'Oh, d—n the servants!' responded her brother, tugging his moustache angrily; 'but if that fellow Elliot is her lover, I must put my brains in steep and contrive to separate them at all hazards, Deb. If I allow him or anyone else to enter the stakes, I shall be out of the running. Anyhow, as you are looking pale, Deb, I mustn't keep you here talking over my incipient love affairs, or you will not be able to receive some of these infernal guests, who, I believe, come to-morrow. You are not overburdened with visitors, however.'
'Yet I would rather it was the time of their going than their coming,' said Mrs. Lindsay, whom his remark touched on a tender point.