He knew he was being optimistic, but he knew too that optimism sometimes had the effect of carrying all before it, and that that was why one had better let it have its head when one found it in oneself, for it was not to be relied on to stay. Too often the other thing took over and then life was not half so much fun, nothing but struggling to finish pamphlets that seemed to have lost their impetus, and finding nothing to say in answer to the fine philosophical points so frequently raised by his neighbour H. W. Brigginshaw.

With his feet beginning to ache, and the vision of the book-lined study and the fire and the tea in his mind’s eye, Cornelius walked steadily towards the woods.

Sir Randolph, walking on towards the next stand in ignorance of the approach of so determined a new friend, had preoccupations no less vague than Cornelius’s but more worrying.

It had been a perfect day. Everything had gone according to plan, there had been no unexpected difficulties, no disappointments. The weather was perfect, the game plentiful, the company congenial. At the least the company should have been congenial, but Gilbert Hartlip was in an odd mood, Lionel Stephens seemed to be making very little effort to soothe him, preferring to talk earnestly to Olivia Lilburn – a preference Sir Randolph understood but thought he should not make so obvious – Aline seemed to be whispering to someone whenever he saw her, a habit he considered obnoxious – surely some nanny or governess must have told her it was bad manners? – and Cicely was flirting much too openly with Tibor Rakassyi, which he knew would have annoyed Ida. He could not put it all down to the presence of women, because they had not been there in the morning, and even in the morning, though things had been better, there had been evidence of the spirit of rivalry which he so much disliked.

He walked over to the gamekeeper. ‘Glass,’ he said. ‘Are your beaters all right, all in order? There was a bit of feeling, I thought, between Lord Hartlip’s man and Mr Stephens’s fellow. Did you notice that?’

‘They’re at daggers drawn, Sir Randolph. They seem to think it’s a private competition. Trouble is Mr Stephens’s score is higher just now as I understand it and the other chap’s not used to that. I did have a word with them about it. They was practically at each other’s throats.’

‘I’ll talk to Mr Stephens about it. I don’t like that sort of thing.’

Glass nodded, preoccupied with the planning of the next drive. When everything went as it should, it was one of the more spectacular. The guns were positioned in the valley, near the river, facing the woods which sloped down towards them. In order to make the birds fly out all together at the last minute, it was necessary to have two lines of beaters, one standing at the top of the hill and the other walking up towards them. At a certain point the first line had to move forwards so that the birds, checked by the second line from running downhill, flew out high over the guns. The trouble with the particular manoeuvre was that each time it was done it had to be varied, according to the weather, the wind speed, Glass’s estimate of the number of birds he wanted shot, for except on days like this one, when the object was to provide the maximum number of shots for the highly skilled shooters, it was sometimes an acceptable policy to combine reasonable sport with the saving of a good proportion of the game, to make sure there was a plentiful supply for the rest of the year as well as for the following breeding season.