Blunt said nothing for a minute or two. Then he looked away from Flora into the middle distance and observed to an adjacent tree trunk that it was about time he got back to Africa.

“Are you going on another expedition⁠—shooting things?”

“Expect so. Usually do, you know⁠—shoot things, I mean.”

“You shot that head in the hall, didn’t you?”

Blunt nodded. Then he jerked out, going rather red as he did so: “Care for some decent skins any time? If so, I could get ’em for you.”

“Oh! please do,” cried Flora. “Will you really? You won’t forget?”

“I shan’t forget,” said Hector Blunt. He added, in a sudden burst of communicativeness: “Time I went. I’m no good in this sort of life. Haven’t got the manners for it. I’m a rough fellow, no use in society. Never remember the things one’s expected to say. Yes, time I went.”