“Why, certainly, Tom. Give me half an hour to get Martha fairly on the rails, and I am with you. We'll take those dear girls along. Oh, it is perfectly splendid. Now let me go; that will do, you foolish boy. Oh, yes, how lovely. Trust me to back you up. What? Don't spoil things. Well, I like that. Didn't I land you? That was 'some job,' as dear Nora would say. You listen to me, Tom. You had better keep in the background. Finesse is not your forte. Better leave these things to me. Hurry up now. Oh, I am so excited.” Few women can resist an appeal for help from a husband. The acknowledgment of the need of help on the part of the dominating partner is in itself the most subtle flattery and almost always irresistible. No woman can resist the opportunity to join in that most fascinating of all sport--man-hunting. And when the man runs clear into the open wildly seeking not escape from but an opening into the net, this only adds a hazard and a consequent zest to the sport. Her husband's disclosures had aroused in Sybil Waring-Gaunt not so much her sporting instincts, the affair went deeper far than that with her. Beyond anything else in life she desired at that time to bring together the two beings whom, next to her husband, she loved best in the world. From the day that her brother had arrived in the country she had desired this, and more or less aggressively had tried to assist Providence in the ordering of events. But in Kathleen, with all her affection and all her sweet simplicity, there was a certain shy reserve that prevented confidences in the matter of her heart affairs. “How far has the German got with her? That is what I would like to know,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt to herself as she hastily prepared for the motor ride. “There's no doubt about him. Every one can see how he stands, and he has such a masterful way with him that it makes one think that everything is settled. If it is there is no chance for Jack, for she is not the changing kind.” Meantime she would hope for the best and play the game as best she could. “Would you mind running into the Gwynnes' as we pass, Tom?” said his wife as they settled themselves in the car. “I have a message for Nora.” “Righto!” said her husband, throwing his wife a look which she refused utterly to notice. “But remember you must not be long. We cannot lose the evening shoot, eh, what?” “Oh, just a moment will do,” said his wife. At the door Nora greeted them. “Oh, you lucky people--guns and a dog, and a day like this,” she cried. “Come along--lots of room--take my gun,” said Mr. Waring-Gaunt. “Don't tempt me, or I shall come.” “Tell us what is your weakness, Miss Nora,” said Jack. “How can we get you to come?” “My weakness?” cried the girl eagerly, “you all are, and especially your dear Sweeper dog there.” She put her arms around the neck of the beautiful setter, who was frantically struggling to get out to her.