She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framtonwhen the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologiesfor being late in making her appearance.
“I hope Vera has been amusing you？” she said.
“She has been very interesting，” said Framton.
“I hope you don’t mind the open window，”said Mrs.
Sappleton briskly； “my husband and brothers will be homedirectly from shooting， and they always come in this way.
They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes today， so They’llmake a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men-folk，isn’t it？”
She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcityof birds， and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton itwas all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partiallysuccessful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic； hewas conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragmentof her attention， and her eyes were constantly straying past himto the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly anunfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit onthis tragic anniversary.
“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest， an absenceof mental excitement， and avoidance of anything in the natureof violent physical exercise，” announced Framton， wholaboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that totalstrangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the leastdetail of one’s ailments and infirmities， their cause and cure.
“On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement，” hecontinued.
“No？” said Mrs. Sappleton， in a voice which only replaceda yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened intoalert attention—but not to what Framton was saying.
“Here they are at last！” she cried. “Just in time for tea， anddon’t they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes！”
Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece witha look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. Thechild was staring out through the open window with dazedhorror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framtonswung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.
In the deepening twilight three figures were walking acrossthe lawn towards the window； they all carried guns under theirarms， and one of them was additionally burdened with a whitecoat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept closeat their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house， and then ahoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk： “I said， Bertie，why do you bound？”
Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat； the hall-door，the gravel-drive， and the front gate were dimly-noted stagesin his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had torun into the hedge to avoid an imminent collision.
“Here we are， my dear，” said the bearer of the whitemackintosh， coming in through the window； “fairly muddy，but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted out as we cameup？”
“A most extraordinary man， a Mr. Nuttel，” said Mrs.
Sappleton； “could only talk about his illnesses， and dashed offwithout a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. Onewould think he had seen a ghost.”
“I expect it was the spaniel，” said the niece calmly； “hetold me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into acemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack ofpariah dogs， and had to spend the night in a newly dug gravewith the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming justabove him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.”
Romance at short notice was her speciality.
