To-morrow, for instance, my father and all his horrible friends--I don't know any of them, except one, but from past experience I presume them to be horrible--are coming down to lunch, and are going to stop for three days' partridge shooting.

Their female belongings are going to stop also, or some of them are, which means that I shall have to look after them." "It's all bad news to-day," remarked Godfrey, shaking his head.

"I've just had a telegram saying that I must report myself on Wednesday, goodness knows why, for I expected to get a month's leave." "Oh!" said Isobel, looking a little dismayed.

"Then let us make the best of to-day, for who knows what to-morrow may bring forth ?" Who indeed?
Certainly not either of these young people.
They talked awhile seated by the river; then began to walk through certain ancient grazing grounds where the monks used to run their cattle.

Their conversation, fluent enough at first, grew somewhat constrained and artificial, since both of them were thinking of matters different from those that they were trying to dress out in words; intimate, pressing, burning matters that seemed to devour their intelligences of everyday with a kind of eating fire.