_Constance._--"No, I don't believe he cares for it." _Bartlett._--"I'm glad of that. I shall be spared the painful hospitality of pointing out the best places for ducks." At an inquiring look from Constance: "I'm glad for their sakes, not mine; _I_ don't want to kill them." _Constance_, with grave mistrust:--"Not like shooting?" _Bartlett._--"No, I think it's the sneakingest sort of assassination; it's the pleasure of murder without the guilt. If you must kill, you ought to be man enough to kill something that you'll suffer remorse for. Do you consider those atrocious sentiments, Miss Wyatt? I assure you that they're entirely my own." _Constance_, blankly.--"I wasn't thinking--I was thinking--I supposed you liked shooting." _Bartlett_, laughing uneasily.--"How did you get that impression?" _Constance_, evasively.--"I thought all gentlemen did." _Bartlett._--"They do in this region. It's the only thing that can comfort them in affliction. The other day our ostler's brother lost his sweetheart--she died, poor girl--and the ostler and another friend had him over here to cheer him up. They took him to the stable, and whittled round among the stalls with him half the forenoon, and let him rub down some of the horses; they stood him out among the vegetables and let him gather some of the new kind of potato-bugs; they made him sit in the office with his feet on top of the stove; they played billiards with him; but he showed no signs of resignation till they borrowed three squirrel-guns and started with him to the oak woods yonder. That seemed to 'fetch' him. You should have seen them trudging off together with their guns all aslant,--this way,--the stricken lover in the middle!" Bartlett rises to illustrate, and then at the deepening solemnity of Constance's face he desists in sudden dismay: "Miss Wyatt, I've shocked you!" _Constance._--"Oh, no--no!" _Bartlett._--"It _was_ shocking. I wonder how I could do it! I--I thought it would amuse you." _Constance_, mournfully.--"It did, thank you, very much." After a pause: "I didn't know you liked--joking." _Bartlett._--"Ah! I don't believe I do--all kinds. Good Lord--I beg your pardon." Bartlett turns away with an air of guilty consciousness, and goes to the window and looks out, Constance's gaze following him: "It's a wonderful day!" He comes back toward her: "What a pity you couldn't be carried there in your chair!" _Constance._--"I'm not equal to that yet." Presently: "Then you--like--nature?" _Bartlett._--"Why, that's mere shop in a landscape painter. I get my bread and butter by her. At least I ought to have some feeling of gratitude." _Constance_, hastily.--"Of course, of course. It's very stupid of me, asking."