CHAPTER XI 



Next morning, while the last of three 

 white frosts was vanishing from the grass, 

 Hugh stood in the hall at French's Court, 

 pinning a bunch of violets into his red coat. 

 Tops and waistcoat, tie and pin, obeyed to 

 a hair-breadth the minute rigour of male 

 fashion in the hunting-field, the violets 

 made their bold yet not exasperating con- 

 trast with the scarlet, and Hugh's pale face 

 was almost picturesque in its gay and vivid 

 setting. Taking up his flask, he went to 

 the dining-room and filled it at the side- 

 board with old liqueur brandy ; he poured 

 out a glass from the same bottle, and was 

 going to raise it to his lips, when he heard 

 voices outside the open door. One of the 



voices was his wife's, and he heard it with 

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