They were going over him like smoke; he couldn't touch a feather."

It was Winlow's voice. A silence, then Thomas Brandwhite's:

"A mistake, the ladies coming out. I never will have them myself. What
do you say, Sir James?"

"Bad principle--very bad!"

A laugh--Thomas Brandwhite's laugh, the laugh of a man never quite sure
of himself.

"That fellow Bellew is a cracked chap. They call him the 'desperate
character' about here. Drinks like a fish, and rides like the devil. She
used to go pretty hard, too. I've noticed there's always a couple like
that in a hunting country. Did you ever see him? Thin, high-shouldered,
white-faced chap, with little dark eyes and a red moustache."

"She's still a young woman?"

"Thirty or thirty-two."

"How was it they didn't get on?"

The sound of a match being struck.

"Case of the kettle and the pot."

"It's easy to see she's fond of admiration. Love of admiration plays old
Harry with women!"