-these were very pleasant people if only he would take them
the right way. I could understand that he regretted his past, but the
early seventies seemed centuries away and I felt sure that he
misunderstood these ladies, they were not revengeful as he seemed to
suppose. I wanted to show him how cheerful they really were, and so I
made a joke and they an laughed at it, and then I chaffed them a bit,
especially Rosalind, and nobody resented it in the very least. And
still Sir Richard sat there with that unhappy look, like one that has
ended weeping because it is vain and has not the consolation even of
tears.

We had been a long time there and many of the candles had burned out,
but there was light enough. I was glad to have an audience for my
exploit, and being happy myself I was determined Sir Richard should
be. I made more jokes and they still laughed good-naturedly; some of
the jokes were a little broad perhaps but no harm was meant. And
then--I do not wish to excuse myself--but I had had a harder day than
I ever had had before and without knowing it I must have been
completely exhausted; in this state the champagne had found me, and
what would have been harmless at any other time must somehow have got
the better of me when quite tired out--anyhow I went too far, I made
some joke--I cannot in the least remember what--that suddenly seemed
to offend them. I felt all at once a commotion in the air, I looked up
and saw that they had all arisen from the table and were sweeping
towards the door: I had not time to open it but it blew open on a
wind, I could scarcely see what Sir Richard was doing because only two
candles were left, I think the rest blew out when the ladies suddenly
rose. I sprang up to apologise, to assure them--and then fatigue
overcame me as it had overcome my horse at the last fence, I clutched
at the table but the cloth came away and then I fell. The fall, and
the darkness on the floor and the pent up fatigue of the day overcame
me all three together.

The sun shone over glittering fields and in at a bedroom window and
thousands of birds were chanting to the Spring, and there I was in an
old four-poster bed in a quaint old panelled bedroom, fully dressed
and wearing long muddy boots; someone had taken my spurs and that was
all. For a moment I failed to realise and then it all came back, my
enormity and the pressing need of an abject apology to Sir Richard. I
pulled an embroidered bell rope until the but