beyond the wire fence of the lawn with a rook rifle; she did not hit
any rabbits, but she got a gardener in the leg, and the man was very
angry, and bled a great deal, and had to be taken away, and I think it
was very careless of her, don't you?

[Sidenote: _Two is Company_]

Lord Valmond was on his way to the window seat where Jane Roose and I
were sitting the first night after dinner, but Mrs. Westaway caught
hold of her husband's coat-tails as he passed and said quite loud,
"Duckie, you must bring Lord Valmond and introduce him to me, we
haven't met yet, and I want to know all your friends." So Billy
Westaway, who is as obedient as a spaniel, secured Lord Valmond, and
presently we saw them comfortably tucked into a small settee together,
and there they stayed all the evening. She kept licking her lips as if
he was something good to eat, and the next morning she fixed a rose in
his buttonhole at breakfast and called him "Cousin Val," and by lunch
time it was plain "Val," and now it is "Harry." I do call it bad taste,
don't you, Mamma? and she isn't half so pretty in broad daylight, and I
don't like her at all now. Only I can't help laughing at Lady
Westaway's face when "Phyllis" (that is Mrs. Westaway's name) says
anything especially vulgar; Lady Westaways shudders, and takes a huge
sniff at her smelling salts. She keeps them always with her in a long
gold-topped bottle, and she has to use them almost every few minutes
when Mrs. Westaway is in the room.

The Horse Show was rather nice; it is held in the park fairly close,
and most of us strolled there in the morning before lunch to see the
judging. Lord Valmond joined us, I was walking with Lord George Lane
(you remember he was one of the Eleven at Nazeby). I was in a very good