utionary
which, in old days, he aimed at making himself, and his speech had a
suavity which no doubt resulted from much intercourse with the polished
world; Godwin was filled with envious admiration of his perfect
physique, and the mettle which kept it in such excellent vigour. Even
for a sturdy walker, it was no common task to keep pace with Buckland's
strides; Peak soon found himself conversing rather too breathlessly for
comfort.

'What is your latest record for the mile?' he inquired.

Warricombe, understanding at once the reference to his old athletic
pastime and its present application, laughed merrily, and checked his
progress.

'A bad habit of mine; it gets me into trouble with everyone.
By-the-bye, haven't you become a stronger man than used to seem likely?
I'm quite glad to see how well you look.'

The sincerity of these expressions, often repeated, put Godwin far more
at his ease than the first moment's sensation had promised. He too
began to feel a genuine pleasure in the meeting, and soon bade defiance
to all misgivings. Delicacy perhaps withheld Warricombe from further
mention of Whitelaw, but on the other hand it was not impossible that
he knew nothing of the circumstances which tormented Godwin's memory.
On leaving the College perchance he had lost all connection with those
common friends who might have informed him of subsequent jokes and
rumours. Unlikely, to be sure; for doubtless some of his Whitelaw
contemporaries encountered him at Cambridge; and again, was it not
probable that the younger Warricombe had become a Whitelaw student?
Then Professor Gale--no matter! The Warricombes of course knew all
about Andrew Peak and his dining-rooms, but they were liberal-minded,
and could forgive a boy's weakness, as well as overlook an
acquaintance's obscure origin. In the joy of finding himself
exuberantly welcomed by a man of Buckland's world he overcame his
ignoble self-consciousness.

'Did you know that we were in this part of the country?' Warricombe
asked, once more speeding ahead.

'I always thought of you in connection with Kingsmill.'

'We gave up Thornhaw seven years ago. My father was never quite
comfortable out of Devonshire. The house I am taking you to has been in
our family for three generations. I have often tried to be proud of the
fact, but, as you would guess, that kind of thing doesn't come very
natural to me.'

In the effort to repudiate such sentiment, Buckland distinctly betray