She spoke of William, and, “Aye,” he agreed. “I know William. William’s weak--for a Hepplestall. Well, it’s those two then. Your spark and William. I think I can do it. Mary. They meet to-morrow, eh? Well, it won’t be the duet they think it will. It will be a trio and I’ll be singing to a tune of my own.” “If,” said Mary, “it isn’t a quartette. I’m coming with you. It’ll make my understudy grateful, anyhow.” CHAPTER X--THE PEAK IN DARIEN RUPERT was annoyed, and annoyed with himself for being annoyed, when he drove up to the main gate of Staithley Mills on the following afternoon and found that the gate-keeper did not know him. It was plainly the man’s duty to warn strangers off the premises, and Rupert was, by hypothesis and in fact, a stranger, but he felt it a reproach that Sir Rupert Hepplestall was forced to make himself known to Hepplestal’s gate-keeper. The man, an old workman, who preferred this mildly honorific wardenship to a pension, made him a backhanded apology. “It’s so long sin’ we’ve seen thee,” he said. “Us had a hoam-coming ready for thee arter the war, but tha’ didno come.” No sirring and no obsequiousness from this old servant of the firm, and Rupert gave a quick, resentful glance as he pulled the car up in the yard. Then he remembered that this was Lancashire--and he knew now what Lancashire thought of him. There was no reason why he should, and every reason why he should not, care what Lancashire thought, seeing that he came there solely to arrange his clean cut from Staithley; but an old fellow in a factory yard who did not scrape, but told him frankly that he had not come up to local expectations, had been able to thwack him shrewdly. It was not much better after that to be treated like a prodigal, to be conducted possessively to the office entrance and to hear the gate-keeper announce in a great and genial voice, “I’ve a glad surprise for yo’, There’s th’ young maister.” He was not and he refused to be “th’ young maister,” but he could not explain to this guide that he wasn’t what he seemed; the infernal fellow was so naively proud to be his herald. “I feel like Judas,” he thought, and tried wryly to laugh the thought away. It was a tremendous and a preposterous simile to be occasioned by the candid loyalty of one old workman, but things did not go much better with him inside the offices.