“He’s about the same, sir, as he’s been ever since I’ve known him.” “Just as mad? Just as unfit to go about uncontrolled?” “Exactly the same, sir.” Now Mr. Bradfield was not satisfied with this answer. He looked angrily at all that he could see of Stelfox’s stolid face, and then said, shortly: “I haven’t seen you to speak to about that affair of Wednesday last--you know--when he got away.” Stelfox raised his eyes for a moment, as respectfully as ever. “No, sir, you haven’t.” “Did you have any difficulty with him, in getting him to come back? It was in the barn you found him, wasn’t it--where I told you he was?” “Yes, sir, it was in the barn. I had no difficulty with him.” “And, of course, you have taken good care that he shouldn’t get out again?” Now this was a question, undoubtedly, although he hardly meant it to be taken as one. It was supposed to be a matter-of-course remark, that hardly needed an answer. Stelfox’s answer was, perhaps, just the least bit aggressive in tone. “I have taken the same care of him as usual, sir; I can’t do no more.” John Bradfield, as he glanced again at the man’s face, looked doubtful still; but he saw that he had gone as far as he dared. “I am quite satisfied with your care of him, Stelfox, quite satisfied. Of course, I’m always anxious, always nervous. I shouldn’t like him to get out again, and frighten the ladies.” “There’s no fear of that, sir,” said Stelfox, as stolidly as ever. “It’s a very awkward and responsible position that I have taken upon myself, in undertaking to keep an insane person under my own roof,” pursued John Bradfield. “The expense is nothing to me, and, of course, I don’t mind the danger to myself. His father was a very valued servant of mine, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for his son. I could never have borne to see the boy taken away to a pauper lunatic asylum.” He paused, and seemed to expect some comment. So Stelfox said: “I understand, sir; I quite understand.” But he looked as if he did not. “And the hard part of it is,” went on Mr. Bradfield, in a loud, aggrieved tone of voice, “that if some friend, say, of his father’s, were to turn up now, and want to see him, ten to one he’d think I ought to have treated the lad differently, put him into an asylum, or done something or other that I haven’t done.” Again he paused. Stelfox, still stolid, still apparently without vivid interest, said: “No doubt, sir.” Mr. Bradfield would have given anything to know exactly what was passing in the man’s mind. Stelfox would have given anything to know what was passing in his master’s. Mr. Bradfield, impatient, turned on his heel, and began rummaging among the letters the post had brought, tossing on to his secretary’s already well-covered table all those directed in handwritings he did not know, and opening the rest, only to throw them for the most part, half-read, into the waste-paper basket.