and yet somewhat as a judge might speak to one that he once condemned wrongly.  My own mind began to turn to mournful things.  I drank another glass of champagne, but I was still thirsty.  I felt as if all the moisture in my body had been blown away over the downs of Kent by the wind up which we had galloped.  Still I was not talking enough; my host was looking at me.  I made another effort, after all I had something to talk about, a twenty-mile point is not often seen in a lifetime, especially south of the Thames.  I began to describe the run to Rosalind Smith.  I could see then that my host was pleased, the sad look in his face gave a kind of a flicker, like mist upon the mountains on a miserable day when a faint puff comes from the sea and the mist would lift if it could.  And the butler refilled my glass very attentively.  I asked her first if she hunted, and paused and began my story.  I told her where we had found the fox and how fast and straight he had gone, and how I had got through the village by keeping to the road, while the little gardens and wire, and then the river, had stopped the rest of the field.  I told her the kind of country that we crossed and how splendid it looked in the Spring, and how mysterious the valleys were as soon as the twilight came, and what a glorious horse I had and how wonderfully he went.  I was so fearfully thirsty after the great hunt that I had to stop for a moment now and then, but I went on with my description of that famous run, for I had warmed to the subject, and after all there was nobody to tell of it but me except my old whipper-in, and “the old fellow’s probably drunk by now,” I thought.  I described to her minutely the exact spot in the run at which it had come to me clearly that this was going to be the greatest hunt in the whole history of Kent.  Sometimes I forgot incidents that had happened as one well may in a run of twenty miles, and then I had to fill in the gaps by inventing.  I was pleased to be able to make the party go off well by means of my conversation, and besides that the lady to whom I was speaking was extremely pretty:  I do not mean in a flesh and blood kind of way but there were little shadowy lines about the chair beside me that hinted at an unusually graceful figure when Miss Rosalind Smith was alive; and I began to perceive that what I first mistook for the smoke of guttering candles and a table-cloth waving in the draught was in reality an extremely animated company who listened, and not without interest, to my story of by far the greatest hunt that the world had ever known:  indeed I told them that I would confidently go further and predict that never in the history of the world would there be such a run again.  Only my throat was terribly dry.  And then as it seemed they wanted to hear more about my horse.  I had forgotten that I had come there on a horse, but when they reminded me it all came back; they looked so charming leaning over the table intent upon what I said, that I told