He frowned slightly at the mention of Augustus. "Of course. Well, I will not have a party, only some one to talk to--your husband. The ancestors won't interest him, probably." "Oh! Do ask Lady Tilchester," I said. "I love her." He bent down suddenly to look at the Dresden clock. "No, I don't think so. She will be entertaining herself just then," he said, "and probably could not get away. But leave it to me, I promise to arrange that Augustus shall not be bored." He picked up La Rochefoucauld and opened it. "I see you have marked some of the _maximes_." "No. Grandmamma and the Marquis must have done that. Look, they are all of the most witty and cynical that are pencilled. I can hear them talking when I read them. That is just how they spoke to one another." He read aloud: "'_C'est une grande folie de vouloir être sage tout seul_!' Don't be '_sage tout seul_,' Comtesse. Let me keep you company in your _sagesse_," he said. I looked up at him. His eyes were full of a quizzical smile. There is something in the way his head is set, a distinction, an air of command. It infinitely pleases me. I felt--I know not what! "Now I will say good-night. I am tired, and it is getting late," I said. "Good-night, Comtesse," and he walked to the door. "I shall be down at nine o'clock." And so we parted. VIII On the morrow it had cleared up and flashes of blue sky were appearing. Augustus and Mr. McCormack had both had too much to drink the night before, at dinner, and were looking, and no doubt feeling, mixed and ill-tempered. The morning was long after the shooters had gone. It seemed as if one o'clock, when we were to start for the lunch, would never come. Miss Springle had some passages-at-arms with Mrs. Dodd. They had all been down to breakfast but Lady Wakely and another woman, who were accustomed to the ways of the world. I had never seen any shooting before. The whole thing was new to me. Augustus had insisted upon selecting what he considered a suitable costume for me. We had been up to London several times together to try it on, and, on the whole, though a little _outre_ in its checks, it is not unbecoming. "Do you shoot, yourself, Mrs. Gussie?" Mrs. Dodd asked, when we assembled in the hall, ready to start. "No; do you?" I replied. "Of course not! The idea! But, seeing your skirt so very short, I should have guessed you were a sportswoman and killed the birds yourself!" and she sniffed ominously. "Do birds get killed with a skirt?" Miss Springle asked, pertly. She hates Mrs. Dodd. They were neighbors In Liverpool, originally. "I thought you had to shoot at them?" Mrs. Dodd snorted. "You will get awfully muddy, Mrs. Dodd, in your long cashmere," Miss Springle continued. "And Mr. Dodd told me, when I met him coming from the bath this morning, to be sure not to wear any colors--they frighten the birds. I am certain he will object to that yellow paradise-plume in your hat." Mrs. Dodd looked ready to fight.