Now the ex-poacher knew perfectly well that he owed this piece of luck largely to Roland's good word for him, for his employer had told him as much; and this being so, of course, by all the rules of that maudlin and slobbery optimism which usually characterises human nature in fiction-- especially cad human nature--he should have become eternally grateful, and his former hostility straightway have been metamorphosed to lifelong devotion. But was this the case? Not even a little bit. No idea of gratitude ever entered his head. It was only for his own purposes that the young Squire of Cranston had helped him, argued this ruffian, with the low suspicious cunning of his class, but he, Devine, would keep a weather eye open, never fear. He was right in a way. Roland had acted to serve his own purposes, but in a directly opposite sense to that suspected by Gipsy Steve. "By the way, Roland," went on the Colonel, "that daughter of his is a monstrously pretty girl, eh! By Jove, sir, but I don't believe you'd have bothered your head about them if she'd had a snub nose and a squint, eh?" "No, I shouldn't. Beauty in distress appeals to the susceptibilities of man, whereas hideosity in similar case does not--unchivalric, even brutal as the confession may sound. But as the girl is only on a visit to her father--doesn't live with him--my character may be regarded as clear." "Ha-ha! You dog!" laughed the jolly Colonel. "That reminds me of--" But what it reminded him of did not transpire, for at that moment they were joined by Clara, basket in hand. She was going to gather some roses, she said. Roland, however much he might or might not have preferred his cigar and his host's more or less sporting stories, could do nothing less than offer to help her. Which offer was graciously accepted. "Ha-ha! Roland, she'll make you do all the finger-licking part of the business," jocosely cried the Colonel after them. "By the bye, what was the sequel to that unlucky smash in the conservatory?" said Clara, as they turned into the garden path. "The orchid, I mean. Did you get frightfully scolded?" This in reference to a casualty which had befallen during the speaker's stay at Cranston, when again the sweep of Roy's blundering tail had wrought mischief, breaking a fairly valuable orchid. "No--I was let down rather easily. The veteran said it wasn't a very rare one, and only remarked in his glum way that he supposed dogs would be happier outside conservatories than in them." "Ah! I'm glad of that; I was afraid the General would have been dreadfully vexed. Can you reach that, Mr Dorrien? There, if I hold down the bough--so--thanks. Now that other one."