"Yes. Why not?"
"No reason at all," Kelson answered, except that I don't remember to have seen you out with the Cumberbatch."
"I dare say not," the other rejoined easily. "It is some years since I hunted with them. I'm living down in the south now, and when I'm at home usually turn out with the Bavistock. Quite a decent little pack, faute de mieux; and Bobby Amphlett, who hunts them, is a great pal of mine."
"I see," Kelson observed guardedly. "Yes, I believe they are quite good as far as they go."
The stranger gave a short laugh. "They, or rather a topping old dog-fox, took us an eleven mile point the other day, which was good enough in that country. Being in town I thought I would run down to this dance for old acquaintance' sake. Dare say one will meet some old friends."
"No doubt," Kelson responded dryly.
"As you have been good enough to ask me to share your fly," the man observed, with a rather aggressive touch of irony, "I may as well let you know who I am. My name is Henshaw, Clement Henshaw."
"Any relation to Gervase Henshaw?" Gifford asked.
"He is my brother. You know him?"
"Only by reputation at my profession, the Bar. And I came across a book of his the other day."