But he didn’t object to them, for he found himself very hungry; spread with the white, crumbly unsalted butter which the repast provided he found them extremely satisfactory. There was cold chicken, besides, and egg soufflé, fig preserve and marble cake, and a glass of milk. Winthrop’s gaze lingered on the milk. “No coffee, eh?” he muttered. “Not suitable for invalids, I suppose; milk much better.” But when he had finished his meal the glass of milk still remained untouched and he observed it thoughtfully. “I fancy Miss Wayne will see this tray when it goes down and she’ll feel hurt because I haven’t drunk that infernal stuff.” His gaze wandered around the room until it encountered the washstand. “Ah!” he said, as he arose. When he returned to the table the glass was quite empty. Digging his pipe and pouch from his bag he filled the former and was soon puffing enjoyably, leaning back in the easy-chair and watching the smouldering fire. “Even if I have to get out of here,” he reflected, “I dare say there’s a hotel or boarding-house in the village where I could put up. I’m not going back North yet awhile, and that’s certain. But if there’s anything wrong with my title to Waynewood why shouldn’t they let me stay here now that I’m established? That’s a good idea, by Jove! I’ll get my trunk unpacked right away; possession is nine points, they say. I dare say these folks aren’t so well off but what they’d be willing to take a respectable gentleman to board.” A fluttering at his heart warned him and he laid aside his half-smoked pipe regretfully and began to unpack his trunk and bag. In the midst of the task Phœbe appeared to rearrange his bed and bear away the tray, bidding him good-night in her soft voice as she went. By half-past seven his things were in place and, taking up one of the books which he had brought with him, he settled himself to read. But voices in the hall below distracted his attention, and presently footsteps sounded on the stairway, there was a tap at his door and Phœbe appeared again. “Excuse me, sir,” said Phœbe, “but Major Cass say can he see you――――” “Phœbe!” called the Major from below. “Yes, sir?” “You tell Mr. Winthrop that if he’s feeling too tired to see me to-night I’ll call again to-morrow morning.” “Yes, sir.” Phœbe turned to Winthrop. “The Major say――――” “All right. Ask the Major to come up,” interrupted Winthrop, tossing aside his book and exchanging dressing-gown for coat and waistcoat. A moment later the Major’s halting tread sounded outside the open door and Winthrop went forward to meet him. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winthrop,” said the Major, as they shook hands. “Glad to know you, Major,” replied Winthrop. “Come in, please; try the arm-chair.” The Major bowed his thanks, laid his cane across the table and accepted the chair which Winthrop pushed forward. Winthrop drew a second chair to the other side of the fire-place.