Not everybody can shoot every year, but everybody gets his chance, and, moreover, a certain percentage of all the game killed is public property, and is distributed every year according to a regular order." "Who pays the keepers ?" interrupted Leven.
"I do," said Wharton, smiling again.

"Mayn't I--for the present--do what I will with mine own?
I return in their wages some of my ill-gotten gains as a landowner.

It is all makeshift, of course." "I understand!" exclaimed Marcella, nodding to him--"you could not be a Venturist and keep up game-preserving ?" Wharton met her bright eye with a half deprecating, reserved air.
"You are right, of course," he said drily.

"For a Socialist to be letting his keepers run in a man earning twelve shillings a week for knocking over a rabbit would have been a little strong.

No one can be consistent in my position--in any landowner's position--it is impossible; still, thank Heaven, one can deal with the most glaring matters.