Then I would have ended my eumoirous task, and my last happy words would be a paternal benediction.

But all the same, I had set forth to find this confounded captain and did not want to be hindered.
The sportsman's instinct which, in my robust youth, had led me to crawl miles on my belly over wet heather in order to get a shot at a stag, I found, somewhat to my alarm, was urging me on this chase after Captain Vauvenarde.

He was my quarry.

I resented interference.

Deer-stalking then, and man-stalking now, I wanted no petticoats in the party.