“Figure o’ speech, my maid. I says: ‘I be just so sure ’tis clean, as you be o’ salvation.’” “What a nerve!” murmured Prudence. “I thought I’d fair landed un. Not a bit! He answers up, very quiet-like: ‘Alferd,’ he says, ‘I bain’t sure o’ my salvation. Pick up that tankard, my lad, and put it in safe. You can clean it properly to-morrow marnin’. At a quarter to eleven, you put un on the table in my room—_bottom up_.’ Now I asks you, Prue, is that tankard cleaned a fair treat, or is it not? Don’t ’ee touch un!” As he ended his amazing narrative, Alfred solemnly placed the tankard, bottom up, on the table, inviting Prudence to inspect its immaculate surface. She bent down, staring at it. Alfred kissed the nape of her neck. As he did so, he sprang sharply to attention, and so did the maid. She moved swiftly and silently to the fireplace. Sir Geoffrey Pomfret entered. He belonged to a type of country gentleman now almost extinct. His round, rosy, clean-shaven face suggested John Bull. To accentuate this resemblance he wore breeches and gaiters, very well cut, a rough shooting-coat, a canary waistcoat and a bright bird’s-eye blue cravat. Every movement and word proclaimed the autocrat. He advanced a couple of steps, glanced about him with a genial smile, and addressed the obsequious Alfred. “Where’s Mr. Fishpingle?” “In stable-yard, I think, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire crossed to the chimney-piece, eyeing Prudence with much approval. He said pleasantly: “Don’t let me disturb you, my dear. Bless me! Your skirts have come down and your hair’s gone up.” Prudence curtsied. “If you please, Sir Geoffrey.” “Well, well, the flight of Time does not please me. How’s your good mother, Prudence?” “Very nicely, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire nodded his massive head. “Healthy family, you Rockleys. Most of my people, thank the Lord! are healthy.” Alfred grinned acquiescence. “What the doose are you grinnin’ at?” “I beg pardon, Sir Geoffrey.” “I like grins. A good grin is worth money to any young man. Speak up, sir! Always share a joke with a friend. I hope, b’ Jove! you regard me as a friend?” Man and maid answered simultaneously: “Oh, yes, Sir Geoffrey.” “Certainly, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire squared his broad shoulders and laughed. “Then out with it, Alfred.” Alfred, thus encouraged, and sensible that he was appearing to advantage in the eyes of Prudence, said boldly: “I was remembering, Sir Geoffrey, what you was sayin’ las’ night about they eugannicks.” The Squire laughed again. “Took it all in, did you?” Alfred bobbed. “Capital! If I had my way, eugenics should be taught in every school in the kingdom.” He spoke to Alfred, but he looked kindly at Prudence. “If you please, sir——” “Yes, my pretty maid?” “What are—eugannicks?” Sir Geoffrey hesitated and coughed, but he was not the man to crane long at an awkward fence. “Well, well, how can I put it plainly to an intelligent child?” “I be nineteen, Sir Geoffrey, come Michael-mas.”