come, Job. Go round to the kitchen, will 'e?"

Job disappeared and Mr. Gurd explained.

"My good neighbour at 'The Seven Stars'--her with the fine pleasure
gardens and swings and so on. And Job Legg's her potman. Her husband's
right hand while he lived, and now hers. I have the use of their
stable-yard market days, for their custom is different from mine. A
woman's house and famous for her meat teas and luncheons. She does very
well and deserves to."

"That old lady with the yellow wig?"

Mr. Gurd pursed his lips.

"To you she might seem old, I suppose. That's the spirit that puts a bit
of a strain on the middle-aged and makes such men as me bring home to
ourselves what we said and thought when we were young. 'Tis just the
natural, thoughtless insolence of youth to say Nelly Northover's an old
woman--her being perhaps eight-and-forty. And to call her hair a wig,
because she's fortified it with home-grown what's fallen out over a
period of twenty years, is again only the insolence of youth. One can
only say 'forgive 'em, for they know not what they do.'"

"Well, get me another brandy anyway."

Then entered Raymond Ironsyde, and Mr. Gurd for once felt genuinely
sorry to see his customer.

The young man was handsome with large, luminous, grey eyes, curly, brown
hair and a beautiful mouth, clean cut, full, firm and finely modelled in
the lips. His nose was straight, high in the nostril and sensitive. He
resembled his brother, Daniel, but stood three inches taller, and his
brow was fuller and loftier. His expression in repose appeared frank and
receptive; but to-day his face wore a look half anxious, half ferocious.
He was clad in tweed knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket, of different
pattern but similar material. His tie was light blue and fastened with
a gold pin modelled in the shape of a hunting-horn. He bore no mark of
mourning whatever.

"Whiskey and soda, Gurd. Morning, Neddy."

He spoke defiantly, as though knowing his entrance was a challenge. Then
he flung himself down on a cushioned seat in the bow window of the
bar-room and took a pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket.

Mr. Gurd brought the drink round to Raymond. He spoke upon some general
subject and pretended to no astonishment that the young man should be
here on this day. But the customer cut him short. There was only one
subject for discussion in his mind.

"I suppose you thought I should go to my father's funeral? No doubt,
you'll say, wit