"Well--er--yes. He has such a penchant for country life, and I thought he would be extremely useful as a sort of overlooker, or bailiff, while learning to be a gentleman-farmer." "You keep him at his desk, and make a lawyer of him," said Wilton sourly. "He'll be able to get a living then, and not have to be always borrowing to make both ends meet. There's nothing to be made out of farming." "Do you hear this, Kate, my dear?" said Garstang, with a meaning smile. "It is quite proverbial how the British farmer complains." "You try farming then, and you'll see." "Why not?" said Garstang, laughingly, while his host writhed in his seat. "It always seems to me to be a delightful life in the country, with horses to ride, and hunting, shooting and fishing." "Oh, yes," growled Wilton, "and crops failing, and markets falling, and swine fever, and flukes in your sheep, and rinderpest in your cattle, and the bank refusing your checks." "Oh, come, come, not so bad as that! You have fine weather as well as foul," said Garstang, merrily. "Then Harry has not been down again, Claud?" "No, I haven't seen him since he went back the other day," said Claud, and added to himself, "and don't want to." "That's strange," said Garstang, thoughtfully. "I wonder where he has gone. I daresay he will be back at the office, though, by now. I don't like for both of us to be away together. When the cat's away the mice will play, Kate, as the old proverb says." "Then why don't you stop at the office, you jolly old sleek black tom, and not come purring down here?" said Claud to himself. "Bound to say you can spit and swear and scratch if you like." There was a dead silence just then, which affected Mrs Wilton so that she felt bound to say something, and she turned to the visitor. "Of course, John Garstang, we don't want to encourage Harry Dasent here, but if--" "Ah, here's lunch ready at last," cried Wilton, so sharply that his wife jumped and shrank from his angry glare, while the bell in the little wooden turret went on clanging away. "Oh, yes, lunch," she said hastily. "Claud, my dear, will you take your cousin in?" But Garstang had already arisen, with bland, pleasant smile, and advanced to Kate. "May I?" he said, as if unconscious of his sister-in-law's words; and at that moment a servant opened the library door as if to announce the lunch, but said instead: "Mr Harry Dasent, sir!" That gentleman entered the room. CHAPTER NINE. "Hello, Harry!" said Claud, breaking up what is generally known as an awkward pause, for the fresh arrival had been received in frigid silence. "Ah, Harry, my boy," said Garstang, with a pleasant smile, "I half expected to find you here." "Did you?" said the young man, making an effort to be at his ease. "Rather a rough morning for a walk--roads so bad. I've run down for a few hours to see how Kate Wilton was. Thought you'd give me a bit of lunch."