"Do you suppose that I don't know which is my own property? I am Miss Arnott, of Exham Park--this is part of my ground."
"I fancy, with all possible deference, that I know which is my property better than you appear to know which is yours. I am Hugh Morice, of Oak Dene, and, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, the ground on which we both are is mine."
She rose to her feet a little hurriedly.
"What authority have you for what you say? Are you trying to amuse yourself at my expense?"
"Allow me to explain. You see that fence, which is in rather a doddering condition--it forms the boundary line between Exham Park and Oak Dene, a fact which I have a particular reason to remember. Once, before this was my ground, I was shooting in these woods. My bird-- it was only a pigeon--dropped on the other side of that fence. I was no better acquainted with the landmarks then than you appear to be now. Not aware that there was any difference between this side and that, I was scrambling over the fence to retrieve my pigeon when I was pulled up short by some very plain words, pronounced in a very plain tone of voice. I won't tell you what the words were, because you might like them even less than I did. I looked up; and there was an old gentleman, who was flanked by two persons who were evidently keepers. He was one of the most eloquent old gentlemen I had ever met. He commenced by wanting to know what I meant by being about to defile his ground by the intrusion of my person. I replied that I wasn't aware that it was his ground, and that I wanted my pigeon. He asked me who I was. When I told him he informed me that he was Septimus Arnott, and desired me to inform all persons bearing my name what he thought of them. He thought a good deal--in a sense. He wound up by remarking that he would instruct his keepers, if ever they caught me on the wrong side of that fence, to put a charge of lead into me at sight. Towards the end of the interview I was as genially disposed as he was; so I retorted by assuring him that if ever I caught anyone from Exham Park on this side, I'd do the honours with a charge of lead. This is the exact spot on which that interview took place--he was there and I here. But the circumstances have changed--it is Exham Park who is now the trespasser. Shall I put a charge of lead into you?"
"By all means--if you wish to."
"I am not quite sure that I do wish to."
"If you have the slightest inclination in that direction, pray don't hesitate."
"You mightn't like it."
"Don't consider my feelings, I beg. In such a matter surely you wouldn't allow my feelings to count."