y smiled.

"I will tell you a very human thing about my favourites," he said. "In
the gardens on the other side of the house we have very extensive lawns,
and my head groom thought he would make use of one of a my horses who
had recovered from a serious accident and was really quite a strong
beast, for one of the machines. He found the idea quite a success, and
now he no sooner appears in the park with a halter than, instead of
stampeding, practically every one of those horses comes cantering up
with the true volunteering spirit. The one which he selects, arches his
neck and goes off to work with a whole string of the others following.
Dodsley--that is my groom's name--tells me that he does a great deal
more mowing now than he need, simply because they worry him for the
work. Gratitude, you see, Mr. Ledsam, sheer gratitude. If you were to
provide a dozen alms-houses for your poor dependants, I wonder how many
of them would be anxious to mow your lawn.... Come, let me show you your
room now."

They passed back through the postern-gate into the gardens of The
Sanctuary. Sir Timothy led the way towards the house.

"I am glad that you decided to spend the night, Mr. Ledsam," he said.
"The river sounds a terribly hackneyed place to the Londoner, but it has
beauties which only those who live with it can discover. Mind your head.
My ceilings are low."

Francis followed his host along many passages, up and down stairs, until
he reached a little suite of rooms at the extreme end of the building.
The man-servant who had unpacked his bag stood waiting. Sir Timothy
glanced around critically.

"Small but compact," he remarked. "There is a little sitting-room down
that stair, and a bathroom beyond. If the flowers annoy you, throw them
out of the window. And if you prefer to bathe in the river to-morrow
morning, Brooks here will show you the diving pool. I am wearing a short
coat myself to-night, but do as you please. We dine at half-past eight."

Sir Timothy disappeared with a courteous little inclination of the head.
Francis dismissed the manservant at once as being out of keeping with
his quaint and fascinating surroundings. The tiny room with its flowers,
its perfume of lavender, its old-fashioned chintzes, and its fragrant
linen, might still have been a room in a cottage. The sitting-room,
with its veranda looking down upon the river, was provided with
cigars, whisky and soda and cigarettes; a bookcase, with a rare copy of