olted away
Gerald remarked that she was now to see one of the worst features of
Merriston; it was over an hour from the station, and if one hadn't a
motor the drive was a great bore. Althea, however, didn't find it a
bore. Her companions talked now, their heads at the windows; it had been
years since they had traversed that country together; every inch of it
was known to them and significant of weary waits, wonderful runs, feats
and misadventures at gates and ditches; for their reminiscences were
mainly sportsmanlike. Althea listened, absorbed, but distressed. It was
Gerald who caught and interpreted the expression of her large, gentle
eyes.

'I don't believe you like fox-hunting, Miss Jakes,' he said.

'No, indeed, I do not,' said Althea, shaking her head.

'You mean you think it cruel?'

'Very cruel.'

'Yet where would we be without it?' said Gerald. 'And where would the
foxes be? After all, while they live, their lives are particularly
pleasant.'

'With possible intervals of torture? Don't you think that, if they could
choose, they would rather not live at all?'

'Oh, a canny old fox doesn't mind the run so much, you know--enjoys it
after a fashion, no doubt.'

'Don't salve your conscience by that sophism, Gerald; the fox is canny
because he has been terrified so often,' said Helen. 'Let us own that it
is barbarous, but such glorious sport that one tries to forget the fox.'

It required some effort for Althea to testify against her and Mr. Digby,
but she felt so strongly on the subject of animals, foxes in particular,
that her courage did not fail her. 'I think it is when we forget, that
the dreadful things in life, the sins and cruelties, happen,' she said.

Gerald's gay eyes were cogitatingly fixed on her, and Helen continued to
look out of the window; but she thought that they both liked her the
better for her frankness, and she felt in the little ensuing silence
that it had brought them nearer--bright, alien creatures that they were.

Her first view of Merriston House hardly confirmed her hopes of it,
though she would not have owned to herself that this was so. It was
neither so beautiful nor so imposing as she had expected; it was even,
perhaps, rather commonplace; but in a moment she was able to
overcome this slight disloyalty and to love it the more for its
unpretentiousness. A short, winding avenue of limes led to it, and it
stood high among lawns that fell away to lower shrubberies and woods. It