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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Yes, she's getting to be thoroughly English. I've noticed a tendency to chirp like a bird when she talks, too." "That governess is a mighty stunning girl, by the way," said Rolfe. "She's been over here a year, you know," said Mrs. Scudaway, with no apparent relevancy. "Have you heard when Eleanor's engagement is to be announced?" asked Miss Ratliff.
"I had it from her own lips, Mrs. Scudaway." "Oh, you know what I mean. Is it likely to be serious?" "Really, I can't say. I offered to go and fetch the doctor in my car, but she assured me she'd be all right in the morning. What say, Mr. Dauntless?" "I didn't speak, Mr. Windomshire." "I thought you did." More than one at the table had heard Joe's involuntary chuckle.
What the deuce " "Sh! Windomshire, it will cost you your life if she hears you. That was Mrs. Scudaway. You don't know what happened, so I'll tell you. Half a dozen of the women went out with us for a run over the usual course. They are among our best and oldest hunters, too.
"Are there any more at home like her?" with a fine chuckle in behalf of his wit. "She's of a very good family, I believe," said Windomshire, looking about helplessly. Mrs. Scudaway caught the look in his eyes and remembered that English gentlemen are not supposed to discuss women outside of their own set. "It must be time for the 'bus," she said. "We're all going in by the 10.10, Mr. Windomshire."
Scudaway was saying in an urgent undertone to the half dozen who leaned across the big table: "Joe is a mighty good sort, and I'm sorry for him. He's been good enough for Eleanor Thursdale ever since she came out two years ago, and I don't see why he should cease being good enough for her now. This Englishman hasn't any more money and he isn't half as good looking. He's English, that's all.
His voice was pleasant to the ear, his manner easy and appealing. He was not so good looking as Dauntless, true, but he had the air of a thoroughbred in his make-up from head to foot. "Sit down here," called Mrs. Scudaway readily, creating a general shift of chairs. The two men hesitated a moment, nervousness apparent in both, and then sat down quickly. The Englishman was next Mrs. Scudaway.
Gad, it was two hours before we got 'em quiet and sent'em to town. They thought it was a tiger, I understand, although some of them held out for the lion and the hyena. Mrs. Scudaway was game enough to stay and enjoy the laugh." "What became of the fox?" demanded the Englishman, his eyes glistening. At that moment the women came trooping down stairs; the 'bus bell was clanging sleepily. "The fox?
Scudaway," cried the rapt bore, "don't you ever do anything but inhale?" "Yes, I exhale occasionally. No, thanks," as he held forth an ash tray. Then she flecked the ashes into the fireplace, ten feet away. "Good Lord, it's a rotten night!" repeated the big man, returning dismally from a visit to the window. "There's a beastly fog mixed in with the rain."
Altogether, it was a night that owed much to the weather. Mrs. Scudaway, dashing horsewoman and exponent of the free rein, was repeating the latest story concerning an intimate friend of every one present and, consequently, absent. "She's just sailed for Europe, and that good-looking actor friend of the family happened to go on the same steamer," she was saying with a joyous smile.
"Accidents will happen," remarked some one, benevolently. "Where's her husband? I haven't seen him with her in months," came from one of the men. "Oh, they have two children, you know," explained Mrs. Scudaway. "Delicate, I hear," said Miss Ratliff. "Naturally; he nurses them," said Mrs. Scudaway, blowing smoke half- way across the room through her delicate nostrils. "I say, Mrs.
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