But the germ of it was
there.

"Do you shoot?"

"Yes; why?"

"I am reconciled to the shooting, then."

"Oh, that is awfully civil of you. Sometimes I'd rather play Bridge."

"So should I--sometimes."

"I'll remember that, Mr. Siward; and when all the men are waiting for
you to start out after grouse perhaps I may take that moment to whisper:
'May I play?'"

He laughed.

"You mean that you really would stay and play double dummy when every
other living man will be off to the coverts? Double dummy--to improve my
game?"

"Certainly! I need improvement."

"Then there is something wrong with you, too, Mr. Siward."

She laughed and started to flick her whip, but at her first motion the
horse gave trouble.

"The bit doesn't fit," observed Siward.

"You are perfectly right," she returned, surprised. "I ought to have
remembered; it is shameful to drive a horse improperly bitted." And,
after a moment: "You are considerate toward animals; it is good in a
man."

"Oh, it's no merit. When animals are uncomfortable it worries me. It's
one sort of selfishness, you see."

"What nonsense," she said; and her smile was very friendly. "Why doesn't
a nice man ever admit he's nice when told so?"

It seems they had advanced that far. For she was beginning to find this
young man not only safe but promising; she had met nobody recently half
as amusing, and the outlook at Shotover House had been unpromising
with only the overgrateful Page twins to practise on--the other men
collectively and individually boring her. And suddenly, welcome as
manna from the sky, behold this highly agreeable boy to play with--until
Quarrier arrived. Her telegram had been addressed to Mr. Quarrier.

"What was it you were saying about selfishness?" she asked. "Oh, I
remember. It was nonsense."

"Certainly."

She laughed, adding: "Selfishness is so simply defined you know."

"Is it? How."

"A refusal to renounce. That covers everything," she concluded.

"Sometimes renunciation is weakness--isn't it?" he suggested.

"In what case for example?"

"Well, suppose we take love."

"Very well, you may take it if you like it."

"Suppose you loved a man!" he insisted.

"Let him beware! What then?"

"--And, suppose it would distress your family if you married him?"

"I'd give him up."

"If you loved him?"

"Love? That is the poorest excuse for selfishness, Mr. Siward."

"So you would ruin your happiness and his--"

"A girl ought to f