etters and things," he called back. "See you later, Malcourt."

There was a mass of mail, bills, plans, and office reports for him lying
on the hall table. He gathered these up and hastened down the stairway.

On the terrace below he found Mrs. Cardross, and stopped to tell her
what a splendid trip they had, and how beautifully Shiela had shot.

"You did rather well yourself," drawled Mrs. Cardross, with a bland
smile. "Shiela says so."

"Oh, yes, but my shooting doesn't compare with Shiela's. I never knew
such a girl; I never believed they existed--"

"They are rare," nodded the matron. "I am glad everybody finds my little
daughter so admirable in the field."

"Beyond comparison in the field and everywhere," said Hamil, with a
cordiality so laboriously frank that Mrs. Cardross raised her eyes--an
instant only--then continued sorting the skeins of silk in her
voluminous lap.

Shiela appeared in sight among the roses across the lawn; and, as Mr.
Cardross came out on the terrace to light his after-breakfast cigar,
Hamil disappeared in the direction of the garden where Shiela now stood
under the bougainvillia, leisurely biting into a sapodilla.

Mrs. Cardross nodded to her white-linen-clad husband, who looked very
handsome with the silvered hair at his temples accentuating the clear,
deep tan of his face.

"You are burnt, Neville. Did you and the children have a good time?"

"A good time! Well, just about the best in my life--except when I'm with
you. Too bad you couldn't have been there. Shiela shoots like a demon.
You ought to have seen her among the quail, and later, in the saw-grass,
pulling down mallard and duskies from the sky-high overhead range! I
tell you, Amy, she's the cleverest, sweetest, cleanest sportsman I ever
saw afield. Gray, of course, stopped his birds very well. He has a lot
of butterflies to show you, and--'longicorns,' I believe he calls those
beetles with enormous feelers. Little Tiger is a treasure; Eudo and the
others did well--"

"And Mr. Hamil?" drawled his wife.

"I _like_ him. It's a verdict, dear. You were quite right; he _is_ a
nice boy--rather a lovable boy. I've discovered no cloven hoof about
him. He doesn't shoot particularly well, but his field manners are
faultless."

His wife, always elaborately upholstered, sat in her wide reclining
chair, plump, jewelled fingers busy with a silk necktie for Hamil, her
pretty blue eyes raised at intervals to scan her husband's animated