"Your neighbour, Mr.
Windover, to whom these woods apparently belong, asked me to bring
my gun out this morning and try and get a woodcock."
"Gracious! You don't mean that Mr. Windover is here, too?" Philippa
demanded, looking around. Lessingham shook his head.
"His car came for him at the other side of the wood," he explained.
"He was wanted to go on the Bench. I elected to walk home."
"And the woodcock?" she asked. "I adore woodcock."
He produced one from his pocket, took up her felt hat, which was
lying amongst the bracken, and busied himself insinuating the pin
feathers under the silk band.
"There," he said, handing it to her, "the first woodcock of the
season. We got four, and I really only accepted one in the hope
that you would like it. I shall leave it with the estimable Mills,
on my return."
"You must come and share it," Philippa insisted. "Those boys of
Nora's are coming in to dinner. Your gift shall be the piece de
resistance."
"Then may I dine another night?" he begged. "This place encourages
in me the grossest of appetites."
"Have no fear," she replied. "You will never see that woodcock
again. I shall have it for my luncheon to-morrow. I ordered dinner
before I came out, and though it may be a simple feast, I promise
that you shall not go away hungry."
"Will you promise that you will never send me away hungry?" he asked,
dropping his voice for a moment.
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