"An old dog, my lord. There's such a many of 'em here, that
they'll be a deal better for a little killing." Then the hounds ate their
third fox for that day.
Lady Eustace, in the mean time, and Mrs. Carbuncle, with Lord George, had
found their way to the shelter of a cattle-shed. Lucinda had slowly
followed, and Sir Griffin had followed her. The gentlemen smoked cigars,
and the ladies, when they had eaten their luncheons and drunk their
sherry, were cold and cross.
"If this is hunting," said Lizzie, "I really don't think so much about
it."
"It's Scotch hunting," said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"I have seen foxes dug out south of the Tweed," suggested Lord George.
"I suppose everything is slow after the Baron," said Mrs. Carbuncle, who
had distinguished herself with the Baron's stag-hounds last March.
"Are we to go home now?" asked Lizzie, who would have been well pleased to
have received an answer in the affirmative.
"I presume they'll draw again," exclaimed Mrs. Carbuncle, with an angry
frown on her brow. "It's hardly two o'clock."
"They always draw till seven in Scotland," said Lord George.
"That's nonsense," said Mrs.
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