kill your husband and most of the guests I cannot be blamed for
it," and he drank down the hock.

"Don't be so foolish," I said, laughing, in spite of having pretended
to be annoyed with him.

"I would drink anything rather than incur your displeasure," he said,
with great humility, as he took up the claret. "Must I eat everything
on the menu, too?"

I appeared not to hear, and turned to Mr. Dodd, who was on my other
side, his usually pale face still crimson with walking so fast and
this feast of Lucullus he was partaking of.

"I had bad luck this morning, Mrs. Gussie," he said, in a humble
voice. "I am sorry about that man and dog, and I am afraid the
gentleman on your right must have got a pellet also--eh, sir?" and
he addressed Antony.

"A mere trifle," said my neighbor "on the right," with his most suave
air and a twinkle in his eye as he finished the claret. "Just a shot
or two in the left arm--a mere nothing, when one considers the dangers
the whole line were incurring."

"You were shot in the arm, Sir Antony?" I exclaimed, suddenly, feeling
a great dislike to Mr. Dodd. "Oh, but people should not shoot if they
are so careless, surely!"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Mr. Dodd, huffily. "I am not
careless. I have been shooting now for a matter of five years and only
twice before have hit any one."

"You have had the devil's own luck!" said Antony, beginning the
Burgundy.

"You may call it luck, sir," said Mr. Dodd, "but I think a man wants a
bit of judgment, too, to shoot, and I always try to remember where my
neighbors stand. But, I must admit, with pheasant shooting in a wood
it is more difficult. It was getting a little excited with a rabbit
which caused the last accident I had."

Antony finished the Burgundy.

"Are you going to walk with us afterwards, Comtesse?" he asked me,
presently, in a low voice, his eyes still twinkling; "because, if so,
I advise you to fortify your nerve with a little orange brandy I see
they are handing now," and he began the champagne.

"Oh, I am so sorry about the whole thing. I think it is perfectly
dreadful," I said, "and--and I do hope you are not really hurt."

He showed me his wrist. His silk shirt-sleeve was wet with blood, and
his arm also had streaks on it, and just under the skin were two or
three small, black lumps.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," I said, and my voice trembled. I
felt I wanted to take his arm and wash the blood off, and caress it,