D'you see anything of him?"
Mr. Pendyce answered:
"No; and I want to see less. I wish he'd take himself off!"
His lordship smiled.
"A huntin' country seems to breed fellows like that; there's always
one of 'em to every pack of hounds. Where's his wife now? Good-lookin'
woman; rather warm member, eh?"
It seemed to Mr. Pendyce that Lord Quarryman's eyes searched his own
with a knowing look, and muttering "God knows!" he vanished into his
brougham.
Lord Quarryman looked kindly at his horses.
He was not a man who reflected on the whys, the wherefores, the
becauses, of this life. The good God had made him Lord Quarryman, had
made his eldest son Lord Quantock; the good God had made the Gaddesdon
hounds--it was enough!
When Mr. Pendyce reached home he went to his dressing-room. In a corner
by the bath the spaniel John lay surrounded by an assortment of his
master's slippers, for it was thus alone that he could soothe in measure
the bitterness of separation. His dark brown eye was fixed upon the
door, and round it gleamed a crescent moon of white. He came to the
Squire fluttering his tail, with a slipper in his mouth, and his eye
said plainly: 'Oh, master, where have you been? Why have you been so
long? I have been expecting you ever since half-past ten this morning!'
Mr.
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