The talk ran to hunting. The marquis said: "To-morrow the Marsh meadow is to be drawn, and I can promise you as good sport as is to be found in the country. There is an old red fox--" "Dearest," cried Theodora, softly but reproachfully, from her sofa, "if you go out to-morrow how are you to finish painting the front of my satin gown which I am to wear at the hunt ball?" Everybody had heard her. William McBean grinned delightedly, and whispered to Anne, "Now the British lion's tail will be twisted." The marquis's face grew three quarters of a yard long. He shifted uneasily in his chair. "My love, do you really want that gown?" "Of course I do, darling." "Then," said the miserable marquis, with a ghastly assumption of a joke, "I'll have to give up the Marsh meadow to-morrow. But the next day, Wednesday--" "Oh--oh!" cried Theodora with coquettish playfulness, pinching his ear, "don't you know you've got to take mamma up to town to do some shopping? Forgetful man!" "I really had forgotten," exclaimed the poor marquis, turning very red, "I'm glad you reminded me, my dear." "And Friday's the day you promised to take Hector to have his picture taken. I couldn't think of trusting my precious poodle to a heartless footman." "Quite true," said the marquis, turning pale, "but Saturday, my pet--" "Saturday!" exclaimed Theodora, "I have no end of things for you to do, dearest. I want you to fetch Major Philibeg over from the barracks in your trap, and Sunday you must go to church, you know, dear love." "Certainly, my own," meekly responded the once redoubtable man who had killed three wives. At this William McBean suddenly darted out of the room, and was found half an hour afterward haw-hawing in the smoking-room. The spectacle of the British lion with his tail between his legs seemed to afford William rapturous amusement.