Dick snipped off an end of bast.

"You're up very early," said he.

"Went to bed so bally sober I couldn't sleep," replied the misguided
youth. "Not a soul in the house, I give you my word. So bored last night
I took a gun and tried to shoot cats. Shot a damn cock pheasant by
mistake, and had to bury the thing in my own covers. If I'm left to
myself to-night I'll get drunk and go out shooting tenants. Come over
and dine."

"Can't," said Dick.

"Do. I'll open a bottle of the governor's old port. Then we can play
billiards, or piquet, or cat's-cradle, or any rotten thing you like."

Dick excused himself curtly. Austin had come down for Whitsuntide, and a
lady was staying in the house. Lord Banstead pushed his hat to the back
of his head.

"Then what the devil am I to do in this hole of a place?"

"Don't know," said Dick.

"You fellows in the country are so unfriendly. In town I never need
dine alone. Anyone's glad to see me. Feeding all by myself in that
dining-room fairly gives me the pip."

"Then come and dine here," said Dick, unable to refuse a neighbour
hospitality.