"I never thought of your caring to see them." Nan was not in the least a sportswoman by nature, though she had hunted as a child--albeit much against her will--to satisfy the whim of a father who had been a dare-devil rider across country and had found his joy in life--and finally his death--in the hunting field he had loved.
But she was a lover of animals, like most people of artistic temperament, and her reply was enthusiastic.
"Of course I'd like to have seen them!" Roger's face brightened.
"Then will you let me show you the kennels one day?
I could motor over for you and bring you back afterwards." Nan nodded up at him.
"I'd like to come very much.

When shall we do it ?" Kitty stirred idly in her hammock.
"You've let yourself in for it now, Roger," she remarked.

"Nan is the most impatient person alive." Once more Nan looked up, with lazy "blue violet" eyes whose seductive sweetness sent an unaccustomed thrill down Roger's spine.

She was so different, this slender bit of womanhood with her dusky hair and petal skin, from the sturdy, thick-booted, sporting type of girl to which he was accustomed.

For Roger Trenby very rarely left his ancestral acres to essay the possibilities of the great outer world, and his knowledge of women had been hitherto chiefly gleaned from the comely--if somewhat stolid--damsels of the countryside, with whom he had shot and fished and hunted since the days of his boyhood.
"Don't be alarmed by what Kitty tells you, Mr.Trenby," Nan smiled gently as she spoke and Roger found himself delightedly watching the adorable way her lips curled up at the corners and the faint dimple which came and went.