Presently Ida turned and introduced Colonel Quaritch, first to Mrs. Quest and then to Mr. Cossey. Harold bowed to each, and then strolled off to meet the Squire, whom he noted advancing with his usual array of protective towels hanging out of his hat, and for a while saw neither of them any more. Meanwhile Mr. Quest had emerged from the shelter of his arbutus, and going from one person to another, said some pleasant and appropriate word to each, till at last he reached the spot where his wife and Edward Cossey were standing. Nodding affectionately at the former, he asked her if she was not going to play tennis, and then drew Cossey aside. “Well, Quest,” said the latter, “have you told the old man?” “Yes, I told him.” “How did he take it?” “Oh, talked it off and said that of course other arrangements must be made. I spoke to Miss de la Molle too.” “Indeed,” said Edward, in a changed tone, “and how did she take it?” “Well,” answered the lawyer, putting on an air of deep concern (and as a matter of fact he really did feel sorry for her), “I think it was the most painful professional experience that I ever had. The poor woman was utterly crushed. She said that it would kill her father.” “Poor girl!” said Mr. Cossey, in a voice that showed his sympathy to be of a very active order, “and how pluckily she is carrying it off too—look at her,” and he pointed to where Ida was standing, a lawn tennis bat in her hand and laughingly arranging a “set” of married _versus_ single. “Yes, she is a spirited girl,” answered Mr. Quest, “and what a splendid woman she looks, doesn’t she? I never saw anybody who was so perfect a lady—there is nobody to touch her round here, unless,” he added meditatively, “perhaps it is Belle.” “There are different types of beauty,” answered Edward Cossey, flinching. “Yes, but equally striking in their separate ways. Well, it can’t be helped, but I feel sorry for that poor woman, and the old gentleman too—ah, there he is.” As he was speaking the Squire, who was walking past with Colonel Quaritch, with the object of showing him the view from the end of the moat, suddenly came face to face with Edward Cossey. He at once stepped forward to greet him, but to his surprise was met by a cold and most stately bow from Mr. de la Molle, who passed on without vouchsafing a single word. “Old idiot!” ejaculated Mr. Quest to himself, “he will put Cossey’s back up and spoil the game.” “Well,” said Edward aloud and colouring almost to his eyes. “That old gentleman knows how to be insolent.” “You must not mind him, Mr. Cossey,” answered Quest hastily. “The poor old boy has a very good idea of himself—he is dreadfully injured because Cossey and Son are calling in the mortgages after the family has dealt with them for so many generations; and he thinks that you have something to do with it.”