He was quite sure that he had been wronged. Not to be wronged is to forego the first privilege of goodness. He had been deeply wronged by a plot,—all those butlers were in the plot or why should they have chased him,—he was much older than he really was, it had been kept from him, and in truth he was a rightful earl. “Earl Shonts,” he whispered; and indeed, why not? And Madeleine too had been wronged; she had been reduced to wander in this uncomfortable caravan; this Gipsy Queen; she had been brought to it by villains, the same villains who had wronged Bealby.... Out he went into the night, the kindly consenting summer night, where there is nothing to be seen or heard that will contradict these delicious wonderful persuasions. He was so full of these dreams that he strayed far away along the dark country lanes and had at last the utmost difficulty in finding his way back to the caravan. And when ultimately he got back after hours and hours of heroic existence it did not even seem that they had missed him. It did not seem that he had been away half an hour. § 2 Tuesday was not so happy a day for Bealby as Monday. Its shadows began when Mrs. Bowles asked him in a friendly tone when it was clean-collar day. He was unready with his answer. “And don’t you ever use a hair brush, Dick?” she asked. “I’m sure now there’s one in your parcel.” “I do use it _sometimes_, Mum,” he admitted. “And I’ve never detected you with a toothbrush yet. Though that perhaps is extreme. And Dick—soap? I think you’d better be letting me give you a cake of soap.” “I’d be very much obliged, Mum.” “I hardly dare hint, Dick, at a clean handkerchief. Such things are known.” “If you wouldn’t mind—when I’ve got the breakfast things done, Mum....” The thing worried him all through breakfast. He had not expected—personalities from Mrs. Bowles. More particularly personalities of this kind. He felt he had to think hard. He affected modesty after he had cleared away breakfast and carried off his little bundle to a point in the stream which was masked from the encampment by willows. With him he also brought that cake of soap. He began by washing his handkerchief, which was bad policy because that left him no dry towel but his jacket. He ought, he perceived, to have secured a dish-cloth or a newspaper. (This he must remember on the next occasion.) He did over his hands and the more exposed parts of his face with soap and jacket. Then he took off and examined his collar. It certainly was pretty bad.... “Why!” cried Mrs. Bowles when he returned, “that’s still the same collar.” “They all seem to’ve got crumpled ’m,” said Bealby. “But are they all as dirty?” “I ’ad some blacking in my parcel,” said Bealby, “and it got loose, Mum. I’ll have to get another collar when we come to a shop.”