better.
Something of shyness marked his manner, and like all shy men he sometimes
appeared arrogant. He had a habit of twisting his moustache nervously and
of throwing quick glances in every direction as he talked; if he found some
one's eye upon him, he pulled himself together and sat for a moment as if
before a photographer. One easily perceived that he was not a man of
liberal education; he had rather too much of the 'society' accent; his
pronunciation of foreign names told a tale. But I thought him good-hearted,
and when the penny-a-liners began to busy themselves with his affairs, I
felt sorry for him.

Nothing to his dishonour came out in the trial. He and his interesting
spouse had evidently lived a cat-and-dog life throughout the three years of
their marriage, but the countercharges brought against him broke down
completely. It was abundantly proved that he had _not_ kept a harem
somewhere near Leicester Square; that he had _not_ thrown a decanter at
Mrs. Ireton. She, on the other hand, left the court with tattered
reputation. Ireton got his release, and the weekly papers applauded.

But in Mortimer Street we saw him no more. Some one said that he had gone
to live in Paris; some one else reported that he had purchased an estate in
Bucks. Presently he was forgotten.

Some three years went by, and I was spending the autumn at a village by the
New Forest. One day I came upon a man kneeling under a hedge, examining
some object on the ground,--fern or flower, or perhaps insect. His costume
showed that he was no native of the locality; I took him for a stray
townsman, probably a naturalist. He wore a straw hat and a rough summer
suit; a wallet hung from his shoulder. The sound of my steps on crackling
wood caused him to turn and look at me. After a moment's hesitation I
recognised Ireton.

And he knew me; he smiled, as I had often seen him smile, with a sort of
embarrassment. We greeted each other.

'Look here,' he said at once, when the handshaking was over, 'can you tell
me what this little flower is?'

I stooped, but was unable to give him the information he desired.

'You don't go in for that kind of thing?'

'Well, no.'

'I'm having a turn at it. I want to know the flowers and ferns. I have a
book at my lodgings, and I look the things up when I get home.'

His wallet contained a number of specimens; he plucked up the little plant
by the root, and stowed it away. I watched him with curiosity. Perhaps I