in a peerage at his sister's book-shop the
previous day. Unfortunately it did not give her age, but that was not so
important, after all. She was styled Honourable. She was the daughter
of one Viscount and the sister of another. Her grandfather had been
an Earl, and the book had shown her to possess a bewildering number
of relationships among titled folks. All this was very interesting to
him--and somewhat suggestive. Vague, shapeless hints at projects rose in
his brain as he looked at her.

"I'm afraid you think my brother has odd notions of entertaining his
guests," she remarked to him, over her shoulder. The other ladies had
not joined them.

"Oh, I'm all right," he protested cordially. "I should hate to have
him put himself out in the slightest." Upon consideration he added: "I
suppose he has given up the idea of shooting to-day."

"I think not," she answered." The keeper was about this morning, that
is--and he doesn't often come unless they are to go out with the guns. I
suppose you are very fond of shooting."

"Well--I've done some--in my time," Thorpe replied, cautiously. It did
not seem necessary to explain that he had yet to fire his first gun on
English soil. "It's a good many years," he went on, "since I had the
time and opportunity to do much at it. I think the last shooting I did
was alligators. You hit 'em in the eye, you know. But what kind of a
hand I shall make of it with a shot-gun, I haven't the least idea. Is
the shooting round I here pretty good?"

"I don't think it's anything remarkable. Plowden says my brother
Balder kills all the birds off every season. Balder's by way of being
a crack-shot, you know. There are some pheasants, though. We saw them
flying when we were out this morning."

Thorpe wondered if it would be possible to consult her upon the question
of apparel. Clearly, he ought to make some difference in his garb, yet
the mental vision of him-self in those old Mexican clothes revealed
itself now as ridiculously impossible. He must have been out of his mind
to have conceived anything so preposterous as rigging himself out, among
these polished people, like a cow-puncher down on his luck.

"I wonder when your brother will expect to start," he began, uneasily.
"Perhaps I ought to go and get ready."

"Ah, here comes his man," remarked the sister. A round-faced,
smooth-mannered youngster--whom Thorpe discovered to be wearing
cord-breeches and leather leggings as he descended the sta