Even Amanda's opposition weakened when, during church time on the
following Sunday, the otter made its way into the house, raided half a
salmon from the larder and worried it into scaly fragments on the Persian
rug in Egbert's studio.

"We shall have it hiding under our beds and biting pieces out of our feet
before long," said Egbert, and from what Amanda knew of this particular
otter she felt that the possibility was not a remote one.

On the evening preceding the day fixed for the hunt Amanda spent a
solitary hour walking by the banks of the stream, making what she
imagined to be hound noises. It was charitably supposed by those who
overheard her performance, that she was practising for farmyard
imitations at the forth-coming village entertainment.

It was her friend and neighbour, Aurora Burret, who brought her news of
the day's sport.

"Pity you weren't out; we had quite a good day. We found at once, in the
pool just below your garden."

"Did you--kill?" asked Amanda.

"Rather. A fine she-otter. Your husband got rather badly bitten in
trying to 'tail it.' Poor beast, I felt quite sorry for it, it had such
a human look in its eyes when it was killed. You'll call me silly, but
do you know who the look reminded me of? My dear woman, what is the
matter?"