"Nothing--nothing worth speaking of," said the boy.
Norah's heart, which had stood still for a space, made up for lost
time with a most disturbing bound.
"I wish you'd find something that was worth speaking about," said
the hostess; "every one seems to have lost their tongues."
"When did Smithers last see that fox?" said the Major.
"Yesterday morning; a fine dog-fox, with a dark brush," confided
Mrs. Hoopington.
"Aha, we'll have a good gallop after that brush to-morrow," said the
Major, with a transient gleam of good humour. And then gloomy
silence settled again round the teatable, a silence broken only by
despondent munchings and the occasional feverish rattle of a
teaspoon in its saucer. A diversion was at last afforded by Mrs.
Hoopington's fox-terrier, which had jumped on to a vacant chair, the
better to survey the delicacies of the table, and was now sniffing
in an upward direction at something apparently more interesting than
cold tea-cake.
"What is exciting him?" asked his mistress, as the dog suddenly
broke into short angry barks, with a running accompaniment of
tremulous whines.
"Why," she continued, "it's your gamebag, Vladimir! What HAVE you
got in it?"
"By Gad," said the Major, who was now standing up; "there's a pretty
warm scent!"
And then a simultaneous idea flashed on himself and Mrs. Hoopington.
Their faces flushed to distinct but harmonious tones of purple, and
with one accusing voice they screamed, "You've shot the fox!"
Norah tried hastily to palliate Vladimir's misdeed in their eyes,
but it is doubtful whether they heard her.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73