perhaps a mental review of her ancestors' capricious records--perhaps a
characteristic impulse that had directed a telegram to Quarrier after a
midnight confab with Grace Ferrall.

However it may have been, she had summoned him. And now he was on his
way to get his answer, the best whip, the most eagerly discussed, and
one of the wealthiest unmarried men in America.

Lingering irresolutely, considering with idle eyes the shadows
lengthening across the sun-shot moorland, the sound of Siward's even
voice aroused her from a meditation bordering on lassitude.

She answered vaguely. He spoke again; all the agreeable, gentle,
humourous charm dominant once more--releasing her from the growing
tension of her own thoughts, absolving her from the duty of immediate
decision.

"I feel curiously lazy," she said; "perhaps from our long drive." She
seated herself on the turf. "Talk to me, Mr. Siward--in that lazy way of
yours."

What he had to say proved inconsequent enough, an irrelevant suggestion
concerning the training of field-dogs for close covert work and the
reasons for not breaking such dogs on quail. Then the question of cross-
breeding came up, and he gave his opinion on the qualities of
"droppers." To which she replied, sleepily; and the conversation veered
again toward the mystery of heredity, and the hopelessness of escape
from its laws as illustrated now by the Sagamore pup, galloping nose in
the wind, having scented afar the traces of the forbidden rabbit.