"Yes; it's all right--or rather, it's all wrong--but she won't tell Groombridge to-day, and she will be quite fairly civil, I think." "And this news," said Rose gently, "will make them both think less of that unfortunate affair last night." Molly rose and moved off with an unusually genial smile. CHAPTER XI THE THIN END OF A CLUE Edmund Grosse later on in the morning strolled down to the stables. He had been there the day before, but he had still something to say to the stud-groom, an old friend of his, who had the highest respect for the baronet's judgment. Edmund loved a really well-kept stable, where hardly a straw escapes beyond the plaited edges, where the paint is renewed and washed to the highest possible pitch of cleanliness, and where a perpetual whish of water and clanking of pails testify to a constant cleaning of cobblestone yard and flagged pavement. In the middle of Groombridge Castle stable-yard there was an oval of perfect turf, and that was surrounded by soft, red gravel; then came alternate squares of pavement and cobble-stones, on to which opened the wide doors of coach-houses and stables and harness-rooms, and the back gate of the stud-groom's house. An old, white-haired, ruddy-faced man standing on the red gravel smiled heartily when Sir Edmund appeared. The man was in plain clothes, with a very upright collar and a pearl horseshoe-pin in his tie; his figure was well-built, but showed unmistakably that his knees had been fixed in their present shape by constant riding. He touched his hat. "How's the mare to-day, Akers?" asked Sir Edmund. "Nicely, nicely; it's a splendid mash that, Sir Edmund. Old Hartley gave me the recipe for that. He was stud-groom here longer than I have been, in the old lord's day. He had hoped to have had his son to follow him, but the lad got wild, and it couldn't be." The old man sighed, and changed the conversation. "Will you come round again, sir?" "Yes," said Edmund; "I don't mind if I do. But you've got a son of your own about the stable, haven't you?" he asked, as they turned towards the other side of the yard. "I had two, Sir Edmund," was the brief and melancholy answer. "Jimmy's here, but the lad I thought most on, he went and enlisted in the war, and he couldn't settle down again after that. Jimmy, he'll never rise to my place--it would not be fair, and I wouldn't let his lordship give it a thought--but the other one might have done it." Sir Edmund felt some sympathy for the stay-at-home, whom he knew. "He seems a cheerful, steady fellow." "He's steady enough, and he's cheerful enough," said his father, in a tone of great contempt; "but the other lad had talent--he had talent." Both men had paused in the interest of their talk.