no doubt he indulged in his impudence out of wanton pleasure in it.  His business was to catch young gentlemen of family, and to turn them against their families, plainly.  That was thinking the best of him.  No doubt he had his objects to gain.  ’He might have been as impudent as he liked to me; I would have pardoned him!’ Rosamund exclaimed.  Personally, you see, she was generous.  On the whole, knowing Everard Romfrey as she did, she wished that she had behaved, albeit perfectly discreet in her behaviour, and conscientiously just, a shade or two differently.  But the evil was done.

CHAPTER XIV

THE LEADING ARTICLE AND MR. TIMOTHY TURBOT

Nevil declined to come to Steynham, clearly owing to a dread of hearing Dr. Shrapnel abused, as Rosamund judged by the warmth of his written eulogies of the man, and an ensuing allusion to Game.  He said that he had not made up his mind as to the Game Laws.  Rosamund mentioned the fact to Mr. Romfrey.  ’So we may stick by our licences to shoot to-morrow,’ he rejoined.  Of a letter that he also had received from Nevil, he did not speak.  She hinted at it, and he stared.  He would have deemed it as vain a subject to discourse of India, or Continental affairs, at a period when his house was full for the opening day of sport, and the expectation of keeping up his renown for great bags on that day so entirely occupied his mind.  Good shots were present who had contributed to the fame of Steynham on other opening days.  Birds were plentiful and promised not to be too wild.  He had the range of the Steynham estate in his eye, dotted with covers; and after Steynham, Holdesbury, which had never yielded him the same high celebrity, but both lay mapped out for action under the profound calculations of the strategist, ready to show the skill of the field tactician.  He could not attend to Nevil.  Even the talk of the forthcoming Elections, hardly to be avoided at his table, seemed a puerile distraction.  Ware the foe of his partridges and pheasants, be it man or vermin!  The name of Shrapnel was frequently on the tongue of Captain Baskelett.  Rosamund heard him, in her room, and his derisive shouts of laughter over it.  Cecil was a fine shot, quite as fond of the pastime as his uncle, and always in favour with him while sport stalked the land.  He was in gallant spirits, and Rosamund, brooding over Nevil’s fortunes, and sitting much alone, as she did when there were guests in the house, gave way to her previous apprehensions.  She touched on them to Mr. Stukely Culbrett, her husband’s old friend, one of those happy men who enjoy perceptions without opinions, and are not born to administer comfort to other than themselves.  As far as she could gather, he fancied Nevil Beauchamp was in danger of something, but he delivered his mind only upon circumstances and characters:  Nevil risked his luck, Cecil knew his game, Everard Romfrey was the staunchest