of—' Then we were gone, and I didn't get the rest. I wondered what it was that he was such a quick judge of. I have thought of it many times since, and still wondered what it could be. He and I talked it over, but could not guess it out. He thought it must be fox-hounds or horses, for he is a good judge of those—no one is a better. But you couldn't know that, because you didn't know him, you had mistaken him for some one else; it must be that, he said, because he knew you had never met him before. And of course you hadn't—had you?"
"Yes, I had."
"Is that so? Where?"
"At a fox-hunt, in England."
"How curious that is. Why, he hadn't the least recollection of it. Had you any conversation with him?"
"Some—yes."
"Well, it left not the least impression upon him. What did you talk about?"
"About the fox. I think that was all."
"Why, that would interest him; that ought to have left an impression. What did he talk about?"
"The fox."
"It's very curious. I don't understand it. Did what he said leave an impression upon you?"
"Yes. It showed me that he was a quick judge of—however, I will tell you all about it, then you will understand. It was a quarter of a century ago—1873 or '74. I had an American friend in London named F., who was fond of hunting, and his friends the Blanks invited him and me to come out to a hunt and be their guests at their country place. In the morning the mounts were provided, but when I saw the horses I changed my mind and asked permission to walk. I had never seen an English hunter before, and it seemed to me that I
