d made such a silly
spectacle of himself?"

He laughed, wincing a trifle.

"Hence this agreeably righteous glow suffusing me," she concluded. "So
now that I have answered my own question, I think that we had better go.
... Don't you?"

They walked for a while, subdued, soberly picking their path through the
dusk. After a few moments she began to feel doubtful, a little uneasy,
partly from a reaction which was natural, partly because she was not
at all sure what either Quarrier or Major Belwether would think of the
terms she was already on with Siward. Suppose they objected? She had
never thwarted either of these gentlemen. Besides she already had a
temporary interest in Siward--the interest that women always cherish,
quite unconsciously, for the man whose shortcomings they have consented
to overlook.

As they crossed the headland, through the deepening dusk the acetylene
lamps on a cluster of motor cars spread a blinding light across the
scrub. The windows of Shotover House were brilliantly illuminated.

"Our shooting-party has returned," she said.

They crossed the drive through the white glare of the motor lamps;
people were passing, grooms with dogs and guns and fluffy bunches of
game-birds, several women in motor costumes, veils afloat, a man or two
in shooting-tweeds or khaki.

As they entered the hall together, she turned to him, an indefinable
smile curving her lips; then, with a little nod, friendly and sweet, she
left him standing at the open door of the gun-room.

CHAPTER III SHOTOVER

The first person he encountered in the gun-room was Quarrier, who
favoured him with an expressionless stare, then with a bow, quite
perfunctory and non-committal. It was plain enough that he had not
expected to meet Siward at Shotover House.

Kemp Ferrall, a dark, stocky, active man of forty, was in the act of
draining a glass, when, though the bottom he caught sight of Siward.
He finished in a gulp, and advanced, one muscular hand outstretched:
"Hello, Stephen! Heard you'd arrived, tried the Scotch, and bolted with
Sylvia Landis! That's all right, too, but you should have come for
the opening day. Lots of native woodcock--eh, Blinky?" turning to Lord
Alderdene; and again to Siward: "You know all these fellows--Mortimer
yonder--" There was the slightest ring in his voice; and Leroy Mortimer,
red-necked, bulky, and heavy eyed, emptied his glass and came over,
followed by Lord Alderdene blinking madly though his s