The shooting party were to have a grand battue the following morning. All the ladies who were not sportswomen were to meet the guns at a keeper’s cottage, and there share their luncheon. But some of the women preferred to walk with the guns. These included Tito, who begged Joseline to accompany her to the neighbourhood of a celebrated warm corner, where they took their stand; but after a very short time Joseline and her dog made their way elsewhere. She had no taste for the spectacle. As she struggled through the undergrowth, she suddenly came upon Dudley Deverell, gun in hand, his loader beside him, awaiting the magic words “Mark over!” “I say, what in the world are you doing here? and with a dog too! If the governor sees it he will be furious,” he drawled. “If you don’t mind you’ll get shot.” “The dog will stick to me, and I’m striving to get out of the wood and doing my big best; but wherever I go there are guns and slaughter. Pah!” she exclaimed, “grown-up men shooting tame pheasants! Why don’t you wring their necks, and have done with it!” Dudley Deverell, who prided himself on being a dead shot and a keen sportsman (when his health permitted), stiffened and coloured with annoyance. What did this girl know of shooting or sport? She really _was_ a young savage! “I see you don’t approve of us, which is deplorable; for you will have to remain here till the end of the beat.” “Who says so?” she demanded. “I do. You may get shot. Mark over!” He raised his gun. Bang! bang! went two barrels, and a couple of rocketters came crashing heavily down. One of them fluttered about till it was put an end to. “What do you think of that?” he inquired. “I call it a horrid sight!” was the unexpected reply. “There is no chance or fair play in it. But I suppose the poulterers have to be supplied!” “Pray what do you know about poulterers?” “A sight more than I want to! Haven’t I spent all my life, till the last two months, rearing chickens, and selling eggs?” “Oh! Really! And how did you dispose of them?” “To the gentry.” “You did not _kill_ them I presume?” “No. I never had the nerve; but I plucked some of them with me own two hands.” “Still, I suppose you made a good thing of it?” “No then, I didn’t; though I had one lady, a big customer--till we fell out.” “About eggs? A bad egg, eh?” “No. There _you_ are out. My eggs were the best. It was over a gold locket and chain.” “How was that?” “She made out as her son had given it to me.” “And she was wrong?”--smiling. “It was the other fellow?” “Well, yes, if I’m a fellow, for I gave it to myself.” “And the lady’s son--was _he_ one of the crowd you----?” “What does my father do with all the game?” she interrupted brusquely. “I’m sure I’ve no idea. He has the best coverts in the county, and that’s enough for me. What an odd girl you are!” he said suddenly. “Don’t you feel it yourself?” “I feel I am the odd one out at present. And you are a queer sort of man.”