them everything they wanted to know.  Everything was going so pleasantly if only Sir Richard would cheer up.  I heard his mournful voice every now and then—­these were very pleasant people if only he would take them the right way.  I could understand that he regretted his past, but the early seventies seemed centuries away and I felt sure that he misunderstood these ladies, they were not revengeful as he seemed to suppose.  I wanted to show him how cheerful they really were, and so I made a joke and they an laughed at it, and then I chaffed them a bit, especially Rosalind, and nobody resented it in the very least.  And still Sir Richard sat there with that unhappy look, like one that has ended weeping because it is vain and has not the consolation even of tears.

We had been a long time there and many of the candles had burned out, but there was light enough.  I was glad to have an audience for my exploit, and being happy myself I was determined Sir Richard should be.  I made more jokes and they still laughed good-naturedly; some of the jokes were a little broad perhaps but no harm was meant.  And then—­I do not wish to excuse myself—­but I had had a harder day than I ever had had before and without knowing it I must have been completely exhausted; in this state the champagne had found me, and what would have been harmless at any other time must somehow have got the better of me when quite tired out—­anyhow I went too far, I made some joke—­I cannot in the least remember what—­that suddenly seemed to offend them.  I felt all at once a commotion in the air, I looked up and saw that they had all arisen from the table and were sweeping towards the door:  I had not time to open it but it blew open on a wind, I could scarcely see what Sir Richard was doing because only two candles were left, I think the rest blew out when the ladies suddenly rose.  I sprang up to apologise, to assure them—­and then fatigue overcame me as it had overcome my horse at the last fence, I clutched at the table but the cloth came away and then I fell.  The fall, and the darkness on the floor and the pent up fatigue of the day overcame me all three together.

The sun shone over glittering fields and in at a bedroom window and thousands of birds were chanting to the Spring, and there I was in an old four-poster bed in a quaint old panelled bedroom, fully dressed and wearing long muddy boots; someone had taken my spurs and that was all.  For a moment I failed to realise and then it all came back, my enormity and the pressing need of an abject apology to Sir Richard.  I pulled an embroidered bell rope until the butler came.  He came in perfectly cheerful and indescribably shabby.  I asked him if Sir Richard was up, and he said he had just gone down, and told me to my amazement that it was twelve o’clock.  I asked to be shown in to Sir Richard at once.  He was in his smoking-room.  “Good morning,” he said cheerfully the moment I went in.  I went directly to the matter in hand.  “I fear that I insulted some ladies in your house—­” I began.