“I--queer? In what way?” he asked, with a touch of hauteur in his tone. “Oh, rambling about the world, looking for something to kill, same as a boy birds-nesting, and not doing a hand’s turn, good or bad.” “Ah, I declare you are a young reformer”--colouring angrily. “And _you_ must know such a jolly lot about the world, and men of the world--don’t you?” he added ironically. “There, now you are laughing at me. I’m no reformer. God knows there’s plenty of faults in me, and I’ve no call to be picking holes in you, or the likes of you; but I can’t keep me tongue quiet.” “You can keep it very quiet sometimes--for instance, last night at dinner.” “And hard set to do it. I’ve always been a terrible talker. Tell me, is it true, that, with all the foreign countries you have seen, and the strange places you have pried into, you have never in your mortal life been down one of your own mines, nor seen how things is going with men and beasts that make your money? There! now I see you’re real mad. I didn’t mean to torment ye!” Before Dudley could make a fitting and crushing reply, steps approached from behind them, and a man called out, “Hullo, Deverell, what luck? You had a hot corner!” But all that Deverell displayed was four brace. “Ah, you’ve had a young lady with you I see.” As the girl pushed through the laurels, and fought her way on to a path, she heard the voice declare, “They are the very deuce out shooting.” “Yes,” acquiesced her cousin, with unflattering emphasis, “an infernal nuisance.” So that was Dudley’s verdict. She was an infernal nuisance! She halted for a moment to digest this fact. It was now time for the lunch at the keeper’s cottage, and she encountered most of the party on their way to the rendezvous as she once more emerged into the open. * * * * * “Lady Mulgrave, is it possible that I see you refusing our standing dish, Irish stew?” said Dudley Deverell. “I believe I shall have enough elsewhere,” she answered, with significance. “What do you think of your new cousin?” she continued, as she helped herself carefully to cutlets. “I am not prepared to give an opinion at such short notice.” “Then I gather that it is not a case of love at first sight?” “I don’t believe in that humbug; and besides, I saw her in Ireland.” “No!”--suddenly putting down her glass. “Yes, by chance--as Mary Foley. I had not the smallest idea who she was then.” “And what did she look like?” “Oh, a pretty, saucy, country girl, with lots to say for herself. I never was so amazed as when I discovered her last night in the drawing-room! You could have floored me with the traditional feather!” “She does not talk much now,” said Lady Mulgrave. “Evidently she has been advised, that silence is best.” “It must be a trial, for I heard a man describe her as ‘the gabbiest little divil in the country.’” “Oh, I expect she will soon find her tongue.” “And her feet?” supplemented Captain Deverell.