"To look at you, my dear fellow, one would think you were being hauled off to Princetown to do seven years penal servitude. For heaven’s sake buck up and say something." Despard spoke; they were swinging along the moorland road at a good pace, just dropping down the hill to the valley through which the little Cherry Brook rushes to join the Dart. Marjorie laughed. She was accompanying them as far as the prison, and while they went over it she was going on into the town to do some marketing. She was wearing a short, workman-like little skirt and high lace boots. She carried her hat in her hand and the wind blew through her hair; the sunshine made it gleam like dull gold. "I believe Rupert’s bored," she said, "and he’s already longing for the excitement and gaiety of London. You must find it awfully dull here, Mr. Despard. You don’t look a bit like the type of man who would enjoy roughing it—for that’s what I suppose you call living in a farmhouse on Dartmoor." "I’m having the time of my life," Despard replied cheerfully. "I was wondering last night whether I could persuade you to take me as a permanent paying guest." "Like the people who stay at the post office and the inn during the summer months? Do you know," she said, looking at him out of her beautiful grey eyes, "I always feel so sorry for those people; they look unhappy and never seem to have anything to do but to drive about in brakes or motor-cars, or, if the day’s wet, wander about holding up an umbrella. If I had to choose between the two, I’d rather be a convict in the prisons than a paying guest." Despard shrugged his shoulders. "Well, one never knows one’s luck. What do you say, Rupert?" Rupert started. He had not been listening to the conversation. "I can’t imagine what pleasure you think you’re going to get in looking at a lot of poor brutes, half of whom will probably never know freedom again: thieves, murderers, robbers, and heaven knows what else. The Zoological Gardens in London are depressing enough, heavens knows; this will be worse." "Not a bit of it," Despard replied. "I believe they’re awfully well looked after. Sort of glorified rest-cure. As I said just now, one never knows one’s luck. You and I might find ourselves en route to Princetown one day, handcuffed between a couple of warders. I always like to be prepared for eventualities. I believe convicts are allowed to choose the work for which they are best adapted or find themselves suited, so keep your eyes open this morning, Rupert, and pick out the softest job." They paused for a few moments on Cherry Brook bridge, gazed into the pool on the left and watched the trout sporting. The waters sang as they tumbled over the granite rocks and swirled beneath the bracken and heather which overhung the peat banks. In the distance a sheep bell tinkled. Now and again one of the wild Dartmoor ponies neighed. The air was sweet with the faint smell of gorse.