Mrs. Graves greeted Jack with much affectionateness, and asked what
they had arranged for the afternoon. Howard told her, and added
that he hoped she did not object to shooting.
"No, not at all," said Mrs. Graves, "if YOU can do it
conscientiously--I couldn't! As usual I am hopelessly inconsistent.
I couldn't kill things myself, but as long as I eat meat, I can't
object. It's no good arguing about these things. If one begins to
argue about destroying life, there are such excellent reasons for
not eating anything, or wearing anything, or even crossing the
lawn! I have long believed that plants are conscious, but we have
got to exist somehow at each other's expense. Instinct is the only
guide for women; if they begin to reason, they get run away with by
reason; that is what makes fanatics. I won't go so far as to wish
you good sport, but you may as well get all the rabbits you can;
I'll send them round the village, and try to salve my conscience
so."
They talked a little about the books Howard had been recommending,
but Mrs. Graves was bent on making much of Jack.
"I don't get you here often by yourself," she said. "I daren't ask
a modern young man to come and see two old frumps--one old frump, I
mean! But I gather that you have views of your own, Jack, and some
day I shall try to get at them. I suppose that in a small place
like this we all know a great deal more about each other than we
suspect each other of knowing.
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