d Romfrey as she did, she wished that she had
behaved, albeit perfectly discreet in her behaviour, and conscientiously
just, a shade or two differently. But the evil was done.

CHAPTER XIV

THE LEADING ARTICLE AND MR. TIMOTHY TURBOT

Nevil declined to come to Steynham, clearly owing to a dread of hearing
Dr. Shrapnel abused, as Rosamund judged by the warmth of his written
eulogies of the man, and an ensuing allusion to Game. He said that he had
not made up his mind as to the Game Laws. Rosamund mentioned the fact to
Mr. Romfrey. 'So we may stick by our licences to shoot to-morrow,' he
rejoined. Of a letter that he also had received from Nevil, he did not
speak. She hinted at it, and he stared. He would have deemed it as vain a
subject to discourse of India, or Continental affairs, at a period when
his house was full for the opening day of sport, and the expectation of
keeping up his renown for great bags on that day so entirely occupied his
mind. Good shots were present who had contributed to the fame of Steynham
on other opening days. Birds were plentiful and promised not to be too
wild. He had the range of the Steynham estate in his eye, dotted with
covers; and after Steynham, Holdesbury, which had never yielded him the
same high celebrity, but both lay mapped out for action under the
profound calculations of the strategist, ready to show the skill of the
field tactician. He could not attend to Nevil. Even the talk of the
forthcoming Elections, hardly to be avoided at his table, seemed a
puerile distraction. Ware the foe of his partridges and pheasants, be it
man or vermin! The name of Shrapnel was frequently on the tongue of
Captain Baskelett. Rosamund heard him, in her room, and his derisive
shouts of laughter over it. Cecil was a fine shot, quite as fond of the
pastime as his uncle, and always in favour with him while sport stalked
the land. He was in gallant spirits, and Rosamund, brooding over Nevil's
fortunes, and sitting much alone, as she did when there were guests in
the house, gave way to her previous apprehensions. She touched on them to
Mr. Stukely Culbrett, her husband's old friend, one of those happy men
who enjoy perceptions without opinions, and are not born to administer
comfort to other than themselves. As far as she could gather, he fancied
Nevil Beauchamp was in danger of something, but he delivered his mind
only upon circumstances and characters: Nevil risked his luck, Cecil knew
his game,