Lord Bazelhurst wore a hunted look and drank more than one or two highballs.  From time to time he cast furtive glances at his wife.  He laughed frequently at the wrong time and mirthlessly.

“He’s got something on his mind,” whispered Odwell in comment.

“Yes; he always laughs when there is anything on his mind,” replied Mrs. De Peyton.  “That’s the way he gets it off.”

After dinner no one proposed cards.  The party edged off into twos and threes and explained how luck had been with or against them.  Penelope, who could not afford to play for stakes, and had the courage to say so, sat back and listened to the conversation of her brother and the group around him.

The duke was holding forth on the superiority of the Chinese over the Japanese as servants and Bazelhurst was loudly defending the Japanese navy.

“Hang it all, Barminster, the Japs could eat ’em up,” he proclaimed.  “Couldn’t they?” to the crowd.

“I’m talking about servants, Cecil,” observed the duke.

“And shoot?  Why, they’re the greatest gunners in the world.  By Jove, I read somewhere the other day that they had hit what they shot at three million times out of—­or, let me see, was it the Prussians who fired three million rounds and—­”

“Oh, let’s change the subject,” said the duke in disgust.  “What’s become of that Shaw fellow?” Penelope started and flushed, much to her chagrin.  At the sound of Shaw’s name Lady Bazelhurst, who was passing with the count, stopped so abruptly that her companion took half a dozen paces without her.

“Shaw?  By Jove, do you know, I’d completely forgotten that fellow,” exclaimed Cecil.

“I thought you were going to shoot him, or shoot at him, or something like that.  Can’t you get him in range?”

“Oh, I wasn’t really in earnest about that, Barminster.  You know we couldn’t shoot at a fellow for such a thing—­”

“Nonsense, Cecil,” said his wife.  “You shoot poachers in England.”

“But this fellow isn’t a poacher.  He’s a—­a gentleman, I daresay—­in some respects—­not all, of course, my dear, but—­”

“Gentleman?  Ridiculous!” scoffed his wife.

“I—­yes, quite right—­a ridiculous gentleman, of course.  Ha, ha!  Isn’t he, Barminster?  But with all that, you know, I couldn’t have Tompkins shoot him.  He asked me the other day if he should take a shot at Shaw’s legs, and I told him not to do anything so absurd.”  Penelope’s heart swelled with relief, and for the first time that evening she looked upon her brother with something like sisterly regard.

“It didn’t matter, however,” said Lady Evelyn sharply, “I gave him instructions yesterday to shoot any trespasser from that side of the line.  I can’t see that we owe Mr. Shaw any especial consideration.  He has insulted end ignored me at every opportunity.  Why should he be permitted to trespass more than any other common lawbreaker?  If he courts a charge of birdshot he should not expect to escape scot free.  Birdshot wouldn’t kill a man, you know, but it would—­”