“You heard that young lady just now, and you must have been surprised, as I was, although you stood like a graven image. She had a letter from Master Lionel this morning. Now, why does he write to her? As between man and man, as between stout old friends, what d’ye make of it—hay?” Fishpingle was not prepared to say what he made of it. Knowing his master, he temporised. “Why shouldn’t Master Lionel write to her?” “Tchah! The boy doesn’t write too often to me. I don’t like this, Ben, I tell you I don’t like it.” “Miss Hamlin is a very sweet young lady.” “Daughter of a Rad. Never knew that when I gave him the livin’. And who are the Hamlins, I ask you, spelt with an ‘i’?” “Mrs. Hamlin was a sweet lady, too.” “Sugary adjectives. You are damnably sentimental, Ben, and, and—a—saccharine. Good word that! Where was I? Your confounded interruptions always put me out of my stride. Yes, yes, I’m not a snob but Mrs. Hamlin, if my memory serves me, was the daughter of an auctioneer. The girl is hairy at the heel, b’ Jove.” “She isn’t.” “You have the impudence to contradict me?” “I thought we were speaking as man to man, as friends.” “So we are, so we are. But it was a slap in the face all the same. And, damn it, sir, any pretty girl can twist you round her finger. Keep your temper, Ben! Between you all my morning has been wrecked. I shall go and hearten myself up with a squint at the new litter of pigs—fifteen little darlings. That old sow does her duty, b’ Jove!” He clapped his hat upon his head and strode to the door. There he stood still for a moment, pulling himself together. His voice had quite recovered its geniality as he said in parting: “With your hasty temper, old friend, you oughtn’t to touch port.” Fishpingle heard his voice once more in the courtyard, Sir Geoffrey was speaking to his retriever. “Good dog! Fine handsome doggie! Best dog in England, what? Come and look at the piggy-wiggies with master.” Fishpingle crossed to the bookcase, and took out a well-used Peerage. Then he put on his spectacles. He sat down at the table and opened the ponderous tome. His fingers turned a few pages. He found “Beaumanoir” and read on. * * * * * CHAPTER IV