"I have hunted this country pretty regularly
since I left the Service. And my friend is Hugh Gifford."
"Gifford? Did not Wynford Place where we are going to-night belong to the
Giffords?" Henshaw asked, curiosity overcoming tact.
"Yes," Gifford answered, "to an uncle of mine. He sold it lately to
Morriston."
"Ah; a pity. Fine old place," Henshaw observed casually. "Naturally you
know it well."
"I have had very good times there," Gifford answered, with a certain
reserve as though disinclined to discuss the subject with a stranger. "I
have come down now also for old acquaintance' sake," he added casually.
"I see," Henshaw responded. "Not altogether pleasant, though, to see an
old family place in the hands of strangers. Personally, when a thing is
irrevocably gone, as, I take it, Wynford Place is, I believe in letting
it slide out of one's mind, and having no sentiment about it."
"No doubt a very convenient plan," Gifford replied dryly. "All the same,
if I can retrieve my evening kit, which has gone astray, I hope to enjoy
myself at Wynford Place to-night without being troubled with undue
sentimentality.
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