What a good time of it had Miss Munch and Mrs Bunch _et hoc genus omne_! Now was the time for unearthing all the little bits of half-forgotten scandal and tagging them together, and weaving them into a deliciously parti-coloured whole, amid much head-wagging and "didn't I tell you how it would be?"--"and it wasn't likely that such a one as Roland Dorrien would bury himself in a dull place like Wandsborough, and hardly ever be with his own people, for nothing." First it was rumoured that the General and his son had had a stand up fight in the former's study, then that they had thrown all the chairs and tables at each other. The more oracular declared that nothing short of a duel had taken place, and least said soonest mended; and thus the ball rolled, until the bare facts that actually were known or guessed at, became quite too prosaic for credence. But what had it all been about? "Ah! haven't you heard?" And then the mysterious nods and winks would increase tenfold, and the whispered communication would be received in various ways according to the temperament or capacity for humbug of the hearer--but always with a thirst for more particulars. For instance, why should Mr Dorrien have interested himself on behalf of that precious rascal, Gipsy Steve? Must it not have been on Lizzie's account, and, of course, all young men were desperately wicked, and anyone with half an eye could see through _that_ brick wall; and so the matter had come to the General's ears. But this story was very soon improved upon, and presently it was that Gipsy Steve had sworn to shoot the young Squire unless he did justice to Lizzie--and it was while Roland was making this announcement to his father, that the latter had hurled an inkstand at his head, and now he had made himself scarce, fearing the ex-poacher's vengeance. Others again scouted this version. Roland Dorrien was not the man to be afraid of anyone--rightly or wrongly--not he. Besides, Lizzie had no more to do with the concern than they, the speakers, had. It was Olive Ingelow who was the real apple of discord. Couldn't anyone see that the two were never apart, that the young Squire spent most of his evenings at the Rectory, and how he and the young lady wandered about the lanes together, or sat on the beach all day long!--and now, it turned out that they had been privately married, and that the General had sworn he would never recognise it or set eyes on his son again.