Lily and Bell had not come there to inquire after partridges, and would have forgiven the sportsmen even though no single bird had been killed.

But they could not forgive the want of good spirits which was apparent.
"I declare I don't know what's the matter with you," Lily said to her lover.
"We have been over fifteen miles of ground, and--" "I never knew anything so lackadaisical as you gentlemen from London.
Been over fifteen miles of ground! Why, Uncle Christopher would think nothing of that." "Uncle Christopher is made of sterner stuff than we are," said Crosbie.

"They used to be born so sixty or seventy years ago." And then they walked on through Gruddock's fields, and the home paddocks, back to the Great House, where they found the squire standing in the front of the porch.
The walk had not been so pleasant as they had all intended that it should be when they made their arrangements for it.

Crosbie had endeavoured to recover his happy state of mind, but had been unsuccessful; and Lily, fancying that her lover was not all that he should be, had become reserved and silent.

Bernard and Bell had not shared this discomfiture, but then Bernard and Bell were, as a rule, much more given to silence than the other two.
"Uncle," said Lily, "these men have shot nothing, and you cannot conceive how unhappy they are in consequence.