Early in that November he was riding home with Miss Palliser by his
side, while the huntsmen and whips were trotting on with the hounds
before him. "You call that a good run, don't you?"

"No; I don't."

"What was the matter with it? I declare it seems to me that something
is always wrong. Men like hunting better than anything else, and yet
I never find any man contented."

"In the first place we didn't kill."

"You know you're short of foxes at Gartlow," said Miss Palliser, who,
as is the manner with all hunting ladies, liked to show that she
understood the affairs of the hunt.

"If I knew there were but one fox in a county, and I got upon that
one fox, I would like to kill that one fox,--barring a vixen in
March."

"I thought it very nice. It was fast enough for anybody."

"You might go as fast with a drag, if that's all. I'll tell you
something else. We should have killed him if Maule hadn't once ridden
over the hounds when we came out of the little wood. I spoke very
sharply to him."

"I heard you, Lord Chiltern."