For what do you drop men?
For falsehood, deception, any dishonesty.
And you dont drop a man when you read in the papers that one of the two best clubs in town has expelled him?
She gave him a troubled glance; and, naively: But you are still a member of the other, are you not? Then hardening: It was common! common!thoroughly disgraceful and incomprehensible!and with every word uttered insensibly warming in her heart toward him whom she was chastening; it was not even badit was worse than being simply bad; it was stupid!
He nodded, one hand slowly caressing the dogs head where it lay across his knees.
She watched him a moment, hesitated, then smiling a little: So now I know the worst about you; do I not? she concluded.
He did not answer; she waited, the smile still curving her red mouth. Had she been too severe? She wondered. You may help me to my feet, she said sweetly. She was very young.
He rose at once, holding out his hands to aid her in that pleasantly impersonal manner so suited to him; and now they stood together in the purple dusk of the uplandstwo people young enough to take one another seriously.
Let me tell you something, she said, facing him, white hands loosely linked behind her. I dont exactly understand how it has happened, but you know as well as I do that we have formed aan acquaintancethe sort that under normal conditions requires a long time and several conventional and preliminary chapters.... I should like to know what you think of our performance.
I think, he said laughing, that it is charming.
Oh, yes; men usually find the unconventional agreeable. What I want to know is why I find it so, too?
Do you? A dull colour stained his cheek-bones.
Certainly I do. Is it because Ive had a delightful chance to admonish a sinnerand bejust a little sorrythat he had 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. Dont 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 Siwardthe 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 youd arrived, tried the Scotch, and bolted with Sylvia Landis! Thats all right, too, but you should have come for the opening day. Lots of native woodcockeh, Blinky? turning to Lord Alderdene; and again to Siward: You know all these fellowsMortimer 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 shooting-goggles and showing all his teeth like a pointer with a tic. Captain Voucher, a gentleman with the vivid colouring of a healthy groom on a cold day, came up, followed by the Page boys, Willis and Gordon, who shook hands shyly, enchanted to be on easy terms with the notorious Mr. Siward. And last of all Tom OHara arrived, reeking of the saddle and clinking a pair of troopers spurs over the floorrelics of his bloodless Porto Rico campaign with Squadron A.
It was patent to every man present that the Kemp Ferralls had determined to ignore Siwards recent foolishness, which indicated that he might reasonably expect the continued good-will of several sets, the orbits of which intersected in the social system of his native city. Indeed, the few qualified to snub him cared nothing about the matter, and it was not likely that anybody else would take the initiative in being disagreeable to a young man, the fortunes and misfortunes of whose race were part of the history of Manhattan Island. Siwards, good or bad, were a matter of course in New York.
So everybody in the gun-room was civil enough, and he chose Scotch and found a seat beside Alderdene, who sat biting at a smoky pipe and fingering a tumbler of smokier Scotch, blinking away like mad through his shooting-goggles at everybody.
These little brown snipe you call woodcock, he began; we bagged nine brace, dyou see? But of all the damnable bogs and covers
Rotten, said Mortimer thickly; Ferrall, youre all calf and biceps, and its well enough for you to go floundering into bogs
Where do you expect to find native woodcock? demanded Ferrall, laughing.
On the table hereafter, growled Mortimer.
Oh, go and pot Beverly Planks tame pheasants, retorted Ferrall amiably; Captain Voucher had a blank day, but he isnt kicking.
Not I, said Voucher; the sport is capitalif one can manage to hit the beggars
Oh, everybody misses in snap-shooting, observed Ferrall; that is, everybody except Stephen Siward with his unholy left barrel. Crack! and, turning to Alderdene, its like taking money from you, Blinkywhich reminds me that weve time for a little Preference before dressing.
His squinting lordship declined and took an easier position in his chair, extending a pair of little bandy legs draped in baggy tweed knickerbockers and heather-spats. Mortimer, industriously distending his skin with whiskey, reached for the decanter. The aromatic perfume of the spirits aroused Siward, and he instinctively nodded his desire to a servant.
This salt air keeps one thirsty, he observed to Ferrall; then something in his hosts expression arrested the glass at his lips. He had already been using the decanter a good deal; except Mortimer, nobody was doing that sort of thing as freely as he.
He set his glass on the table thoughtfully; a tinge of colour had crept into his lean checks.
Ferrall, too, suddenly uncomfortable, stood up saying something about dressing; several men arose a trifle stiffly, feeling in every joint the result of the first days shooting after all those idle months. Mortimer got up with an unfeigned groan; Siward followed, leaving his glass untouched.
One or two other men came in from the billiard-room. All greeted Siward amiablyall excepting one who may not have seen himan elderly, pink, soft gentleman with white downy chop-whiskers and the profile of a benevolent buck rabbit.