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voice sound convincing while I conjectured to him
about the attractive qualities of his new country.

In the meantime, as if to tantalize the Ringwellites,
the bitches excelled themselves. The only consolation
was that he couldn't take them with him. A new
Master was secured, but no one felt much confidence
in him or the future. The less they knew about him
the more they shook their heads over his inevitable
fallibilities. Already it was rumoured that he was the
slowest amateur huntsman in England; and now he
was proposing to hunt the hounds himself two days
a week.

When I discussed Denis Milden's departure with
people out hunting they often assumed that I should
be going with him. I replied guardedly that I hadn't
thought about it yet, although the truth was that I
had thought of little else. I had to acclimatize myself
to the disconsolate idea of a Ringwell country where
I should once again be reduced to the status of a
visiting nonentity. But one evening when Denis was
unusually bright and communicative (after a good
day in the nice bit of grass country close to the
Kennels) he turned his blunt kindly face in my direc-
tion (he was at his writing-table with a lot of letters
to answer), and remarked: "I'll have to get you up
to Packlestone somehow. It's too sad for words to
think of leaving you behind!" When he said that I
knew that he intended me to go with him. And Denis
had a habit of getting his own way.