The attendants moved about, impassive and
silent as ever; no one else seemed to be cognizant of their
existence, but Montague could not help noticing them, and wondering
what they thought of it all.
When at last the party broke up, it was because the bridge-players
wished to get settled for the evening. The others gathered in front
of the fireplace, and smoked and chatted. At home, when one planned
a day's hunting, he went to bed early and rose before dawn; but
here, it seemed, there was game a-plenty, and the hunters had
nothing to consider save their own comfort.
The cards were played in the vaulted "gun-room." Montague strolled
through it, and his eye ran down the wall, lined with glass cases
and filled with every sort of firearm known to the hunter. He
recalled, with a twinge of self-abasement, that he had suggested
bringing his shotgun along!
He joined a group in one corner, and lounged in the shadows, and
studied "Billy" Price, whose conversation had so mystified him.
"Billy," whose father was a banker, proved to be a devotee of
horses; she was a veritable Amazon, the one passion of whose life
was glory.
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