round, doesn't it?"

Whereby it will be seen that there was already a certain opinion in the
neighbourhood as to the Captain's motive for planting himself at
Beechdale--so acute is a quiet little community of this kind in
divining the intentions of a stranger.

Captain Winstanley took up his quarters at Beechdale Cottage in less
than a week after Mrs. Tempest's dinner-party. He sent for his horses,
and began the business of hunting in real earnest. His two hunters were
unanimously pronounced screws; but it is astonishing how well a good
rider can get across country on a horse which other people call a screw.
Nobody could deny Captain Winstanley's merits as a horseman. His costume
and appointments had all the finish of Melton Mowbray, and he was always
in the first flight.

Before he had occupied Captain Hawbuck's cottage a month the new-comer
had made friends for himself in all directions. He was as much at home
in the Forest as if he had been native and to the manner born. His
straight riding, his good looks, and agreeable manners won him
everybody's approval. There was nothing dissipated or Bohemian about
him. His clothes never smelt of stale tobacco. He was as punctual at
church every Sunday morning as if he had been a family man, bound to
set a good example. He subscribed liberally to the hounds, and was
always ready with those stray florins and half-crowns by which a man
purchases a cheap popularity among the horse-holding and
ragged-follower class.

Having distinctly asserted her intention of remaining a widow to
Violet, Mrs. Tempest allowed herself the privilege of being civil to
Captain Winstanley. He dropped in at afternoon tea at least twice a
week; he dined at the Abbey House whenever the Scobels or any other
intimate friends were there "in a quiet way." He generally escorted
Mrs. Tempest and her daughter from church on Sunday morning, Violet
persistently loitering twenty yards or so behind them on the narrow
woodland path that led from Beechdale to the Abbey House.

After walking home from church with Mrs. Tempest, it was only natural
that the Captain should stop to luncheon, and after luncheon--the
Sabbath afternoon being, in a manner, a legitimate occasion for
dawdling--it was equally natural for him to linger, looking at the
gardens and greenhouses, or talking beside the drawing-room fire, till
the appearance of the spitfire Queen Anne tea-kettle and Mrs. Tempest's
infusion of orange pekoe.

Somet