o what was being said. The topic, naturally, was
Faversham's appointment. Every landowner there was full of it. He had
been seen in Brampton on market day driving in a very decent motor; and
since his accession he had succeeded in letting two or three of the
derelict farms, on a promise of repairs and improvements which had been
at last wrung out of Melrose. It was rumoured also that the most
astonishing things were happening in the house and the gardens.

"Who on earth is the man, and where does he come from?" asked a short,
high-shouldered man with a blunt, pugnacious face. He was an ex-officer,
a J.P., and one of the most active Conservative wire-pullers of the
neighbourhood. He and Victoria Tatham were the best of friends. They
differed on almost all subjects. He was a mass of prejudices, large and
small, and Victoria laughed at him. But when she wanted to help any
particularly lame dog over any particularly high stile, she always went
to Colonel Barton. A cockney doctor attached to the Workhouse had once
described him to her as--'eart of gold, 'edd of feathers'--and the label
had stuck.

"A Londoner, picked up badly hurt on the road, by Undershaw, I
understand, and carried into the lion's den," said Andover, in answer to
Barton. "And now they say he is obtaining the most extraordinary
influence over the old boy."

"And the house--turned into a perfect palace!" said the rector, throwing
up his hands.

The others, except Tatham, crowded eagerly round, while the rector
described a visit he had paid to Faversham, within a few days of the
agent's appointment, on behalf of a farmer's widow, a parishioner, under
notice to quit.

"Hadn't been in the house for twenty years. The place is absolutely
transformed! It used to be a pigsty. Now Faversham's rooms are fit
for a prince. Nothing short of one of your rooms here"--he addressed
Tatham, with a laughing gesture toward the house--"comparable to his
sitting-room. Priceless things in it! And close by, an excellent office,
with room for two clerks--one already at work--piles of blue-books,
pamphlets, heavens knows what! And they are fitting up a telephone
between Threlfall and some new rooms that he has taken for estate
business in Pengarth."

"A _telephone_--at Threlfall!" murmured Andover.

"And Undershaw tells me that Melrose has taken the most extraordinary
fancy for the young man. Everything is done for him. He may have anything
he likes. And, rumour says--an eno