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He was my quarry. I resented interference. Deer-stalking
then, and man-stalking now, I wanted no petticoats in the party. I
worked myself up into an absurd state of irritability. Why was she
coming to spoil the sport? I had arranged to track her husband down,
reason with him, work on his feelings, telegraph for his wife, and in
an affecting interview throw them into each other's arms. Now, goodness
knows what would happen. Certainly not my beautifully conceived _coup de
theatre_.
"And she has the impertinence," I cried in my wrath, "to sign herself
'Lola'! As if I ever called her, or could ever be in a position to call
her 'Lola'! I should like to know," I exclaimed, hurling the "Indicateur
des Chemins de Fer" on to the seat of a summer-house, built after the
manner of a little Greek temple, "I should like to know what the deuce
she means by it!"
"Hallo! Hallo! What the devil's the matter?" cried a voice; and I
found I had disturbed from his slumbers an unnoticed Colonel of British
Cavalry.
"A thousand pardons!" said I.


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