“In the eyes of county magistrates the snaring of a hare is, I’ve heard, regarded as one of the worst crimes in the calendar.” “And is pretty hard on poachers, I suppose?” he laughed. “He’s a member of all sorts of committees for this and for that, and sits on the bench of magistrates with the row of fat butchers and bakers.” “George is quite a steady-going old fogey nowadays, you must know, Mr Smeeton,” exclaimed her ladyship. But I’ve profited by your advice and experience.” “Playing the fool as I did, I narrowly escaped with my life half-a-dozen times over. “You’re right, Smeeton,” declared the Earl. We were both, I think, a little more reckless then than we are now,” he said laughing. “We have only a moment ago, Lady Stanchester, been recalling memories of our days on the Zambesi. I saw that he had darted a meaning look at her – a glance which she apparently understood, for next second she held her breath, stifling down her apprehension, and then managed to stammer out the usual expression of gratification at meeting any of her husband’s friends. Their gaze met, and I saw that in a moment her heart became gripped by a nameless terror, her countenance blanched, and she halted rigid, as utterly dumbfounded as I had been while the mysterious guest bowed, expressing his pleasure at making her acquaintance, and thus allowing her a chance to recover her self-possession.
“My friend Smeeton – Lady Stanchester,” exclaimed the Earl, introducing them.
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