"Yes, you do, my dear. It's just ten years ago, and you must remember about them both wanting a holiday on the same day, and coming back at night, and Sarah saying so demurely: `Please, ma'am, we've been married.'" Wilton twisted his chair round and kicked a piece of coal on the top of the fire which required breaking. "James, my dear, you shouldn't do that," said his wife, reprovingly. "You're as bad as Claud, only he always does it with his heel. There is a poker, my dear." "I thought you always wanted it kept bright." "Well, it does look better so, dear. But I do hope going off in the night like that won't give Kate a cold." Wilton ground his teeth and was about to burst into a furious fit of anger against his wife's tongue, but matters seemed to have taken so satisfactory a turn since the previous day that the bite was wanting, and he planted his heels on the great hob, warmed himself, and started involuntarily as he saw in the future mortgages, first, second and third, paid off, and himself free from the meshes which he gave Garstang the credit of having spun round him. As for Claud, he could, he felt, mould him like wax. So long as he had some ready money to spend he would be quiet enough, and, of course, it was all for his benefit, for he would succeed to the unencumbered estates. Altogether the future looked so rosy that Wilton chuckled at the glowing fire and rubbed his hands, without noticing that the fire dogs were grinning at him like a pair of malignant brazen imps; and just then Mrs Wilton let her work fall into her lap and gave vent to a merry laugh. "What now?" said Wilton, facing round sharply. "Don't do that. Suppose one of the servants came in and saw you grinning. Just recollect that we are in great trouble and anxiety about this--this--what you may call it--escapade." "Yes, dear; I forgot. But it does seem so funny." "Didn't seem very funny last night." "No, dear, of course not; and I never could have thought our troubles would come right so soon. But only think of it; those two coming back together, and Kate not having changed her name. There won't be a thing in her linen that will want marking again." "Bah!" growled Wilton. "Yes, what is it?" he cried, as the footman appeared. "Beg pardon, sir, but Tom Jonson had to go to the village shop for some harness paste, and it's all over the place." "Oh, is it?" growled Wilton. "Of course, if Mr Tom Jonson goes out on purpose to spread it." "I don't think he said a word, sir, but they were talking about it at the shop, and young Barker saw 'em last." "Barker--Barker? Not--" "Yes, sir, him as you give a month to for stealing pheasants' eggs. That loafing chap." "He saw them last night? Here, go and tell Smith to fetch him here before me." Samuel smiled. "Do you hear, sir? Don't stand grinning there." "No, sir; certainly not, sir," said the man, "but Tom Jonson thought you'd like to see him, sir, and he collared him at once and brought him on."