s only of last
summer's date. It had sprung suddenly out of a flirtation started at a
dance.

A man about town does not psychologise himself; he accepts his condition
with touching simplicity. He is hungry; he must be fed. He is thirsty;
he must drink. Why he is hungry, when he became hungry, these inquiries
are beside the mark. No ethical aspect of the matter troubled him; the
attainment of a married woman, not living with her husband, did not
impinge upon his creed. What would come after, though full of unpleasant
possibilities, he left to the future. His real disquiet, far nearer, far
more primitive and simple, was the feeling of drifting helplessly in a
current so strong that he could not keep his feet.

"Ah yes; a bad case. Dreadful thing for the Sweetenhams! That young
fellow's been obliged to give up the Army. Can't think what old
Sweetenham was about. He must have known his son was hit. I should say
Bethany himself was the only one in the dark. There's no doubt Lady Rose
was to blame!" Mr. Pendyce was speaking.

Mrs. Bellew smiled.

"My sympathies are all with Lady Rose. What do you say, George?"

George frowned.

"I always thought," he said, "that Bethany was an ass."

"George," said Mr. Pendyce, "is immoral. All young men are immoral. I
notice it more and more. You've given up your hunting, I hear."

Mrs. Bellew sighed.

"One can't hunt on next to nothing!"

"Ah, you live in London. London spoils everybody. People don't take the
interest in hunting and farming they used to. I can't get George here at
all. Not that I'm a believer in apron-strings. Young men will be young
men!"

Thus summing up the laws of Nature, the Squire resumed his knife and
fork.

But neither Mrs. Bellew nor George followed his example; the one sat with
her eyes fixed on her plate and a faint smile playing on her lips, the
other sat without a smile, and his eyes, in which there was such a deep
resentful longing, looked from his father to Mrs. Bellew, and from Mrs.
Bellew to his mother. And as though down that vista of faces and fruits
and flowers a secret current had been set flowing, Mrs. Pendyce nodded
gently to her son.

CHAPTER II

THE COVERT SHOOT

At the head of the breakfast-table sat Mr. Pendyce, eating methodically.
He was somewhat silent, as became a man who has just read family prayers;
but about that silence, and the pile of half-opened letters on his right,
was a hint of autocrac