For he was always ready to make room upon his own level for other men; but the wordless grin and the bloodshot welcome were calmly ignored, for as yet that freemasonry evoked no recognition from the pallid man opposite, whose hands were steady as though that morning's sun had wakened him from pleasant dreams.
"The most difficult shot in the world," Alderdene was explaining, "is an incoming pheasant, sailing on a slant before a gale." "A woodcock in alders doing a jack-snipe twist is worse," grunted Mortimer, drenching another apple in port.
"Yes," said Miss Page tersely.
"Or a depraved ruffed cock-grouse in the short pines; isn't that the limit ?" asked Mortimer of Siward.
But Siward only shrugged his comment and glanced out through the leaded casements into the brilliant September sunshine.
Outside he could see Major Belwether, pink skinned, snowy chop whiskers brushed rabbit fashion, very voluble with Sylvia Landis, who listened absently, head partly averted.

Quarrier in tweeds and gaiters, his morning cigar delicately balanced in his gloved fingers, strolled near enough to be within ear-shot; and when Sylvia's inattention to Major Belwether's observations became marked to the verge of rudeness, he came forward and spoke.

But whatever it was that he said appeared to change her passive inattention to quiet displeasure, for, as Siward rose from the table, he saw her turn on her heel and walk slowly toward a group of dogs presided over by some kennel men and gamekeepers.
She was talking to the head gamekeeper when he emerged from the house, but she saw him on the terrace and gave him a bright nod of greeting, so close to an invitation that he descended the stone steps and crossed the dew-wet lawn.
"I am asking Dawson to explain just exactly what a 'Shotover Drive' resembles," she said, turning to include Siward in an animated conference with the big, scraggy, head keeper.

"You know, Mr.Siward, that it is a custom peculiar to Shotover House to open the season with what is called a Shotover Drive ?" "I heard Alderdene talking about it," he said, smilingly inspecting the girl's attire of khaki with its buttoned pockets, gun pads, and Cossack cartridge loops, and the tan knee-kilts hanging heavily pleated over gaiters and little thick-soled shoes.

He had never cared very much to see women afield, for, in a rare case where there was no affectation, there was something else inborn that he found unpleasant--something lacking about a woman who could take life from frightened wild things, something shocking that a woman could look, unmoved, upon a twitching, blood-soiled heap of feathers at her feet.
Meanwhile Dawson, dog-whip at salute, stood knee deep among his restless setters, explaining the ceremony with which Mr.Ferrall ushered in the opening of each shooting season: "It's our own idee, Miss Landis," he said proudly; "onc't a season Mr.
Ferrall and his guests likes it for a mixed bag.