"Rather an amusing thing happened once with a batman of mine. Irish chap. He had a holiday and went off to Ireland for it. When he came back, I asked him if he had had a good holiday.

"'Ah shure, your Honour, best holiday I've ever had in my life!'

"'I'm glad of that,' I said, rather surprised at his enthusiasm.

"'Ah yes, shure, it was a grand holiday! I shot my brother.'

"'You shot your brother!' I exclaimed.

"'Ah yes, indade. It's years now that I've been wanting to do it. And there I was on a roof in Dublin and who should I see coming down the street but my brother and I there with a rifle in my hand. A lovely shot it was, though I say it myself. Picked him off as clean as a bird. Ah! It was a foine moment, that, and I'll never forget it!'"

Boyd Carrington told a story well, with exaggerated dramatic emphasis, and we all laughed and felt easier. When he got up and strolled off saying he must get a bath before dinner, Norton voiced our feeling by saying with enthusiasm:

"What a splendid chap he is!"

I agreed, and Luttrell said: "Yes, yes, a good fellow."

"Always been a success everywhere, so I understand," said Norton. "Everything he's turned his hand to has succeeded. Clear-headed, knows his own mind - essentially a man of action. The true successful man."

Luttrell said slowly:

"Some men are like that. Everything they turn their hand to succeeds. They can't go wrong. Some people - have all the luck."

Norton gave a quick shake of the head.

"No, no, sir. Not luck." He quoted with meaning. "Not in our stars, dear Brutus - but in ourselves."

Luttrell said: "Perhaps you're right."

I said quickly:

"At any rate he's lucky to have inherited Knatton. What a place! But he certainly ought to marry. He'll be tonely there by himself."

Norton laughed. "Marry and settle down? And suppose his wife bullies him - " It was the purest bad luck. The sort of remark that anyone could make. But it was unfortunate in the circumstances, and Norton realized it just at the moment that the words came out. He tried to catch them back, hesitated, stammered, and stopped awkwardly. It made the whole thing worse.

Both he and I began to speak at once. I made some idiotic remark about the evening light. Norton said something about having some bridge after dinner. Colonel Luttrell took no notice of either of us. He said in a queer, inexpressive voice:

"No, Boyd Carrington won't get bullied by his wife. He's not the sort of man who lets himself get bullied. He's all right. He's a man!''

It was very awkward. Norton began babbling about bridge again. In the middle of it a large wood pigeon came flapping over our heads and settled on the branch of a tree not far away.

Colonel Luttrell picked up his gun.