ason, and having
put away her almost meaningless mourning, there had stolen into her
sense of security something irksome in the promise she had made to give
Quarrier a definite answer before winter.

Perhaps it had been the lack of interest in the people at Shotover,
perhaps a mental review of her ancestors' capricious records--perhaps a
characteristic impulse that had directed a telegram to Quarrier after a
midnight confab with Grace Ferrall.

However it may have been, she had summoned him. And now he was on his
way to get his answer, the best whip, the most eagerly discussed, and
one of the wealthiest unmarried men in America.

Lingering irresolutely, considering with idle eyes the shadows
lengthening across the sun-shot moorland, the sound of Siward's even
voice aroused her from a meditation bordering on lassitude.

She answered vaguely. He spoke again; all the agreeable, gentle,
humourous charm dominant once more--releasing her from the growing
tension of her own thoughts, absolving her from the duty of immediate
decision.

"I feel curiously lazy," she said; "perhaps from our long drive." She
seated herself on the turf. "Talk to me, Mr. Siward--in that lazy way of
yours."

What he had to say proved inconsequent enough, an irrelevant suggestion
concerning the training of field-dogs for close covert work and the
reasons for not breaking such dogs on quail. Then the question of
cross-breeding came up, and he gave his opinion on the qualities of
"droppers." To which she replied, sleepily; and the conversation veered
again toward the mystery of heredity, and the hopelessness of escape
from its laws as illustrated now by the Sagamore pup, galloping nose in
the wind, having scented afar the traces of the forbidden rabbit.

"His ancestors turned 'round and 'round to flatten the long reeds and
grasses in their lairs before lying down," observed Siward. "He does it,
too, where there is nothing to flatten out. Did you ever notice how many
times a dog turns around before lying down? And there goes the carefully
schooled Sagamore, chasing rabbits! Why? Because his wild ancestors
chased rabbits. ... Heredity? It's a steady, unseen, pulling, dragging
force. Like lightning, too, it shatters, sometimes, where there is
resistance."

"Do you mean, Mr. Siward, that heredity is an excuse for moral
weakness?"

"I don't know. Those inheriting nothing of evil say it is no excuse."

"It is no excuse."

"You speak with authori