“I should think I did, sir, and a bonnier, handsomer young girl I never came across. Of course, she never came here, but I got to know her a bit by meeting her often in the village, and she always had a cheerful ‘Good-morning, Mr. Dobbs,’ and a bright smile for me. Her father we often saw; he was one of our regular customers, a jolly, pleasant fellow when all right, but apt to show a rather ugly temper in his cups. And that I am sorry to say was very frequently.” Mr. Dobbs lifted his tumbler to his lips with an expressive gesture and took a deep draught. “Too fond of this, sir. Many a night he’s gone home to that poor girl in a shocking state. I used to pity her from the bottom of my heart. And no mother, sir; she died when her daughter was born. Only them two, in that little cottage at the end of the village; Vine Cottage, it is called; you may have noticed it in your walks.” Yes, Sellars had noticed it; in taking up the investigating business he had trained himself to very close habits of observation, of noting the most trivial details. He settled himself comfortably in his easy-chair and proceeded to fill a large briar pipe. “Fire away, Dobbs, and tell me all you know of this Miss Larchester. It’s not Saturday night, you know, and we can’t do better than a yarn and a drink.” But before embarking on a fresh history which he was always pleased to do, the man put a question himself with a rather deprecating air; for he was a very delicate-minded old fellow, and although he was always ready to satisfy the curiosity of other persons, he hated to appear curious himself. “Excuse me, sir, but do you know the lady now? I _should_ like to know all is well with her. I was so afraid what her fate might be with that careless father.” Sellars explained glibly that she had married well and seemed quite happy. Fortunately Dobbs was too well-mannered to ask for further information, to inquire her name and station, for instance. But, if he had, there is no doubt the young man would have proved himself equal to the occasion. He certainly would not have let him know that Lettice Larchester, the handsome daughter of an evidently disreputable father, was the wife of a financier of great eminence. Sellars took deep pulls at his pipe, as the old man proceeded with his reminiscences. He felt very pleased with the turn things had taken. Nobody had ever seemed to know anything about Mrs. Morrice except, of course, Sir George, who kept that knowledge in his own breast, imitating, in that respect, the reticence of the lady herself. Sellars was now going to learn a good deal from the lips of this garrulous waiter, with his old-world air and respectable side-whiskers. CHAPTER VIII MRS. MORRICE’S GIRLHOOD This was the history of a part of the lives of Lettice Larchester and her father as set forth by old Dobbs, the head-waiter and general utility man of the Brinkstone Arms, extending over a period of some four years.