'The guns?' she said. 'Oh, no; I hate watching men shoot.'
'You used to like it.'
'I used to like dolls,' she said, impatiently.
Mr Barstowe gave tongue. He was a slim, tall, sickeningly beautiful young man, with large, dark eyes, full of expression.
'We develop,' he said. 'The years go by, and we develop. Our souls expand—timidly at first, like little, half-fledged birds stealing out from the—'
'I don't know that I'm so set on shooting today, myself,' said Martin. 'Will you come round the links?'
'I am going out in the motor with Mr Barstowe,' said Elsa.
'The motor!' cried Mr Barstowe. 'Ah, Rossiter, that is the very poetry of motion. I never ride in a motor-car without those words of Shakespeare's ringing in my mind: "I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes."'
'I shouldn't give way to that sort of thing if I were you,' said Martin. 'The police are pretty down on road-hogging in these parts.'
'Mr Barstowe was speaking figuratively,' said Elsa, with disdain.