"Aunt Margery, they are shooting!"
"Well, my dear, is that anything unusual on the first of October?" spoke Miss Upton, smiling. "Robert Dalrymple would think it strange if he did not go out today to bag his pheasants—poor things! I dare say it was his gun you heard."
"And there's another—and another!" cried the young lady. "They are shooting away! Adela must have run away with the glasses, Aunt Margery."
Adela Chenevix had gone, listlessly enough, into the blue room: one of the magnificent drawing-rooms in front, its colours pale blue and silver. She opened the first table-drawer she came to; but did not see any glasses. Then she glanced about in other directions.
"Janet," she called to a maid-servant passing the door, "do you know where the opera-glasses are?"
"The opera-glasses," returned the girl, entering. "No, I don't, my lady."
"Aunt Margery said they were in this room."
"I know Miss Margery had them a few days ago. She was looking through them at the rick that was on fire over yonder. I'll look in the other rooms, my lady."
Adela, sat down near the window, and fell into a train of thought. The maid came back, saying she could not find the glasses: and the young lady forgot all about them, and sat on.
"Well," said Miss Margery, interrupting her presently, "and where are the glasses you were sent for, Adela? And what's the matter?"