Fishpingle answered very slowly: “You have been very generous about Prudence and Alfred. But—there’s Mr. Lionel. He’s your only son, Sir Geoffrey. If he dies unmarried, strangers will come here. Strangers”—he glanced round the beautiful room—“will live here. Is it wrong of me to think so much of that? Wasn’t I brought up at Nether-Applewhite? Didn’t I play with you as a child—an only child, too?” “That will do, Ben. What you say moves me, as it moves you. But, if you are to remain here, we must change our relations.” Fishpingle murmured almost inaudibly: “Yes, yes; our relations must be changed.” There was a long pause. The Squire fidgeted. He repudiated sentiment, but sentiment was gripping him. The distress upon Fishpingle’s face pleaded eloquently for him. “Come, come, Ben. Don’t be an obstinate old fool! Beg my pardon handsomely, and have done with it. Damn it! Ill bribe you, b’ Jove! You shall have Bonsor’s billet, and his house, and poke your nose into everything till—till the end.” Overcome by his own magnanimity, the Squire blew his nose sonorously. “I have always wanted that, Sir Geoffrey. It’s a big bribe. But, there’s Mr. Lionel——” The Squire lost his temper. “What has Mr. Lionel got to do with you, Ben? I’ve let you have your way about Prudence. B’ Jove! I’ll take no more of this from any one out of my family.” “You are proud of your family, Sir Geoffrey, and so am I. I’ve a natural right to speak plainly to you.” The Squire was arrested by his tone. “A natural right? What d’ye mean?” Fishpingle hesitated; he stretched out his hands. “I want to go fishing and rabbiting with Mr. Lionel’s children.” “Tchah! So you shall—so you shall. Dammy, don’t I know that you’re proud of the family; and it shouldn’t be difficult for you to own up that you’ve treated the head of its shabbily. Here, now—there!” He smiled again, seeing Fishpingle as a boy. A ferret carried by the Squire in his coat pocket had bitten him in the throat. Ben had pulled the beast off. Lady Alicia had ordered that coat to be burnt, because the polecat scent offended her aristocratic nose. What jolly days those were, to be sure! “Yes—I’ve been wrong,” murmured Fishpingle. “Ah!” The Squire chuckled a little. Fishpingle added incisively: “I should have told you long ago, and gone away.” “Gone away? Is the man daft? Told me—what?” “Things you have never guessed. Will you sit down at your desk, Sir Geoffrey?” The Squire stared at him, amused rather than angry. “Upon my word,” he said, “this is beginning to look like a case for a doctor. You ask me to sit down in my own room. Very well!” He moved to a chair which faced the desk, and sat down. “Pardon me, Sir Geoffrey, I asked you to sit at your desk.” “Um! You are evidently not quite in your right mind, Ben. However——” He crossed to the desk and sat down, staring at Fishpingle, who, to his amazement, took his place on the hearthrug.