Humblethorne, checked in the casual greeting which he was about to give, filled his pipe with the studious regard of the completely idle man and let his eyes rest vacantly upon the stranger. Now that he was cheated of a companion the little curiosity he would have had was without reason, but the mind is often above reason and after its bent has been given it by years of training and application will proceed quite happily on its own account. Humblethorne did not know he was taking in the stranger detail by detail, but his mind in fact received a clear and reproducible impression of a tall, thin man of about thirty-three or thirty-four years of age, with hands which bore indistinct indications of refinement and clothes that bore none. A few minutes later when the stranger’s supper was brought in and he was compelled to give over his steady reading of the paper, Humblethorne also noted in the same uninterested way that he had a mouth of delicate sensibility unusual for a man of his apparent status, and above it a pair of restless and perhaps anxious eyes. These met his as the stranger, after another glance at his watch, began his supper; and he gave a curt nod in forced recognition of the other’s presence, of which Humblethorne took immediate advantage. “Mind my lighting up?” he inquired affably as he struck a match. “Not at all,” replied the stranger, but without the least sociability. “A fine evening,” resumed Humblethorne, “and looks like keeping fine for a bit.” The stranger took no notice whatever of this original conversationalism, but Humblethorne, undaunted, tried again: “Know this part of the country at all?” The other mumbled an unwilling, “Not very well.” “Stopping here long, then,” persisted Humblethorne. “What the devil’s that to you?” answered the stranger, suddenly looking up with surprising surliness. “Nothing, nothing at all,” replied Humblethorne, rising in high indignation, “except that if you are, I’m not,” after which he slammed the door violently behind him and felt slightly better. “Jolly sort of philanthropist to run up against on a holiday,” grumbled the little man to himself as he left the inn and struck out down the lane. “What boors we English are! Now if that had been a Frenchman we’d have been bowing and parlevooing away like anything by this time. Damn the fellow, he’s quite put me out of temper.”