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After breakfast, he walked with the duchess for an hour in the

garden and then drove across the park to join the shooting-party.

The crisp frost lay like salt upon the grass. The sky was an

inverted cup of blue metal. A thin film of ice bordered the flat,

reed-grown lake.

At the corner of the pine-wood he caught sight of Sir Geoffrey

Clouston, the duchess's brother, jerking two spent cartridges out

of his gun. He jumped from the cart, and having told the groom to

take the mare home, made his way towards his guest through the

withered bracken and rough undergrowth.

"Have you had good sport, Geoffrey?" he asked.

"Not very good, Dorian. I think most of the birds have gone to

the open. I dare say it will be better after lunch, when we get

to new ground."