A little beyond, the forty beaters stood huddled together like a pack of hounds.

The head-keeper, that personage of indescribable majesty and humility, was consulting with Bellingdown, who looked very anxious.

The duke was taking a last sip and a nibble, while his hostess begged him not to hurry. All the rest were lighting cigarettes.

"You smoke, of course," Carleigh was asking Mrs. Darling.

"Of course."

"Shall I give you a light?"

"Thanks."

"I stick to a pipe," said Kneedrock, dragging one out of his huge, shapeless pocket.

"It is a nice thing," volunteered the duke. "I often smoke one at home. I say, Doody, don't I often smoke a pipe at home?"

"Yes, he does," the duchess verified. "He smokes one all the time at Puddlewood."

"Shall we join the guns?" Lady Bellingdown asked, rising and addressing the women generally.

"I can't," refused Charlotte Grey. "I can't see things killed. Sometimes they cry out, and it makes me dreadfully ill."

Bellingdown turned about with a worried air. "Here, Greggy, what do you say? Hemmings thinks the spinney there to the left. I'd thought only of Daggs Farm, and so on by the mill."

Sir George, whom they called "Greggy," looked as if the whole of the Far East was hanging on his nod. He silently considered.

"I tell m'lud that the spinney's quite fresh, sir," said Hemmings, touching his cap respectfully. "M'lud saw a fine bag off there last year, sir."

"What do you say?" pleaded Lord Bellingdown, quite visibly agitated.

The other men gathered about, all obviously perturbed.

"Hand me my field-glasses," commanded Sir George. "My man has them."

Sir George's man, carrying Sir George's two guns, came hurriedly forward with Sir George's field-glasses. Every one pressed close and glanced back and forth between the baronet and the spinney, which was an exceedingly ordinary spinney with some fir-trees beyond.

The owner of the field-glasses raised them, adjusted them, lowered them, readjusted them, raised them again and took a long look.

"I should toss up for it," he decided, without deciding.

"What an old fool he is!" the duchess observed confidentially into the ear of Charlotte Grey, who started visibly.

"Who do you mean?" asked Lady Grey sharply.

Then the duchess started, too.

"I thought you were Nina Darling," she confessed. "I meant the head-keeper, of course. Who else could I mean?"

"Oh!" said Lady Grey coldly.

"But where is dear Nina?" the duchess blandly inquired. "Such a charming person! She always livens one up so. I'm really very fond of Nina. We do so enjoy her whenever she comes to Puddlewood."

"She's just getting out of sight there," replied Lady Grey, still more coldly. "That's Sir Caryll with her. It seems he's given up shooting since his jilting."

"Shall we go on with the guns?" queried Lady Bellingdown. "It's just as you like, duchess."

"Oh, if I can do as I like I'll go home with the china and the butler and the pony-cart," her grace answered. "It would be something new to do."

Kneedrock laughed and hooked his arm through hers.

"I've a nice upholstered car turning up at three," he told her in an undertone. "Be patient and I'll provide for you."

"But there are two cars waiting now," said the duchess. "Oh, I see. You're making a joke. But such a poor joke, Nibbetts, dear."

"Do let us settle on what to do," begged the hostess. "Shall we walk with the guns or go home at once?"

"And is it to be the spinney or Daggs Farm?" cried the host. "Come, now, we can't wait about all day, you know."

"But we often wait about an hour after luncheon at Puddlewood, you know," objected the duke. "I say, Doody, don't we often wait about an hour after luncheon at Puddlewood?"

"Mrs. Darling and Sir Caryll are quite out of sight now," announced Charlotte Grey, slinging her blue scarf around her throat. "I wonder what they're saying."

As a matter of fact, at just that second they were not saying anything. They were stopping and trying to think, and their pulses were interfering rather too much for cool comfort.

They were at the Lower Stream Stile, which was a picture spot in the park. At the moment the picture had the deeper meaning always added by human figures.

Nina sat on the second step of the stile, and Sir Caryll sat on the lowest, cuddled in close by her feet. He had her hand in his and his eyes were raised to her face.

Affairs had moved on very fast—even since luncheon half an hour ago.

"Tell me the truth—your husband is really dead?" the man demanded passionately. "It isn't some horrible spasmodic playfulness of yours to talk loneliness and all that while really—"

"No," answered Nina, nestling her fingers closer and speaking in a warm, low voice. "No, he's really dead. He was cleaning his guns and one was loaded. So careless in his boy, wasn't it? No, it's quite all so. Really, I am marriageable, eligible, and all the rest of it."

Carleigh kissed the nestling fingers. "To think that I ever fancied I knew what love was before!" he murmured. "You dear! You darling! May I call you Nina?"

"But you've called me Nina three times already since luncheon."

"Have I? I didn't know it. Dearest, I do not know what I am doing or saying any more. You have me wound all in and out around these fingers.

"Do you know, I thought I knew a little bit about love and about women, and about what men and women could mean to one another. But I was a baby at the game. I knew the lines, don't you know, but I didn't know their expressiveness. I was a child playing with the letters of the alphabet."

"You saw the symbols, but you didn't know their meaning?"

"Exactly so."

"But now you know."

"Now I know."

Nina hugged herself seductively together. "Isn't it deliciously, delightfully dangerous to sit like this and think that if any one should appear anywhere there would be such an outbreak of talk as would even cause last month to pale with envy?"

He kissed her hand. "I'd love it all," he said. "I can hold no dearer wish than to share a scandal with you. 'There goes the man who made off with Mrs. Darling!' How I should look down with contempt on all less clever men!"

Nina rippled gaily. "You know you do this rather well," she praised. "I'm sure that whoever peeped would fain believe the lie."

"I hope so."

"I'm sure of it. I'll tell you how flirting compares with marriage. It's like the best rouge and the real color. You can manage the rouge; the real color you can't."

"You're so charming!" he exclaimed, rather absorbing the hand. "And, oh, I'm so happy! When we go home, should they guess, what will it matter?"

She laid her free hand on his shoulder. "I'd mind," she said gently. "I don't want them to talk. I'm asked to the house to comfort you; not to catch you or cure you."

"But, Nina, my darling, what can it matter? You will marry me some day soon."

She started so violently that the old stile creaked and bid fair to fall down. The staghound, which had been lying quietly on the grass at their feet, started up, too. Carleigh saw his bared fangs and heard his ugly growl.

"Oh, dear!" he protested, trying to pull her back into her place. "Why, what is it?"

"Don't say it!" she cried, in a tone of violent protest. "Don't! Don't! I'm perfectly willing to play with you at love; but don't speak of marriage.

"When men say that word it always brings me to my senses. I remember, then. The good in me comes back. I get my devil into harness once more. Have I sinned again? Have I fallen into the pit afresh? Does this man really and truly mean what he says? No, no, no! Oh, no!"

He did pull her down, and he got his arm around her.

"Why, love! Why, precious!" he murmured soothingly. "Dear, dear girl! Darling Nina!"

"I don't love you!" she cried vehemently. "I never can love you! I do love one man and I can't love any other. It's no use trying."

And then she was out of his grasp, striking him away as roughly as his other betrayer had done.

Carleigh stood paralyzed. In some ways he was little more than a boy. But—if a boyish heart that had swelled with newborn hope was shrunken suddenly by old, wizened despair—there was at any rate one man-thing about him, for presently he turned his back to her and that ghastly moan—the sob of a suffering man—fell on her ear.

At that Nina came down the two mossy steps and looked at him with curious irresolution, her hand pressed against her lips.

There was a long moment. There was another sob. Then, having drawn close to him, she placed her fingers on his arm.

"What can I do?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He sobbed again. "You can love me," he whispered.

"But I love some one else."

"He doesn't love you. I do."

"But I love him."

"And I love you."

He reached back his arm and pulled her around in front of him. His eyes were shut, his face was wet. He held her hard against his bosom. Their lips met.

The staghound's growl ended the long, dumb seconds. It was provoked by Kneedrock, who was beside them.

Carleigh didn't care in the least. In spite of her struggling he held her fast, and his voice rang almost fiercely as he said:

"Don't tell this yet. You see we are going to be married."

"Yes?" observed the viscount, without a trace of wonder or any other emotion. "I wish you joy."

With that she wrenched herself free. "No, no!" she cried in a passion of protest. "It isn't so! It's not true! I have refused him. You know my story, Hal! You know how it is with me!

"I can never marry any man but one. I told him so, but he wouldn't believe it. And then he cried and I kissed him. You tell him that I can never marry him. Tell him everything."

Kneedrock's lip curled in a cynical half-smile.

"It's not my story to tell," was his retort. "I don't understand it. I never do understand love-stories. It's quite enough for me to go about alone without any love-story of my own and come suddenly upon broken-hearted people like yourselves."

Carleigh was deepest crimson. "You might spare Mrs. Darling at all events," he said haughtily.

Kneedrock glanced at him indifferently. "I'm not being rough with any one," he returned. "I haven't any faith in human nature, so stiles never give me shocks."

He paused a brief moment and looked over their heads at the gray sky. Neither of them spoke.

"I say," he added suddenly. "Do you know it's long past three? You'll both be jolly late for tea unless you make haste. I'm off." And he was gone.

"I wonder what will happen next," Nina hazarded as she watched Nibbetts disappear over the crest of the hill. Then she turned to Carleigh with a most enticing smile.

"Well, as we know one another pretty well now, perhaps you had better take me in your arms and kiss me very nicely once more, for it is quite possible we may never have another chance."

Carleigh could hardly place himself. Whether he was in his right senses or had all at once lost his reason—turned lunatic—he couldn't just tell for the life of him.

Nevertheless, he eagerly obeyed her suggestion. He took her in his arms and he kissed her—not once, but thrice.

Then they walked home.