"No hurry," Gibbon said, sullenly uncommunicative. Earnestly desiring his departure he had strolled with his visitor to the gate. To have him on Sunday as well as all the week was a little too much, he was saying to himself, aloud saying nothing. And at that moment a carriage was driven past, whose servants wore the green and tan liveries of the Forcuses. One of the two ladies seated in the carriage, with a look of surprise on her face, leant eagerly forward and bowed to the men at the gate. Mr. Boult, taken unaware, made a dash at his hat, Gibbon, bare-headed, did not so much as bend his neck in response to the salutation, but his face grew leaden-white. "Slap up turn-out! I suppose their carriages are always dashing by?" Mr. Boult said; for the road on which the Laburnums stood was that which led to Cashelthorpe. He was generally at work at the back of the house, and could not say how often they passed, Gibbon said. "You'd rather be looking at your three-yard-square of croquet-lawn than at Deleah Day in the Forcuses' carriage, Gibbon?" Gibbon plucked a leaf from the hedge and put it in his mouth, but made no reply to the facetious remark. "What are they doing, driving their horses, and dragging out their servants in the middle of a Sunday afternoon?" They went sometimes, in the afternoon, to a service at the Cathedral, Gibbon, who in spite of being habitually at the back of the house evidently knew something of the Forcuses' movements, was able to communicate. "Little Miss Deleah thinks a mighty lot of herself, seated up there in state." He should not think so, Gibbon said. "What is she but a servant there? She was a far greater lady, to my thinking, when she sat in the room over her mother's shop." "It's Bessie that should ride in her carriage," Mr. Boult declared. "Perhaps she will," said Gibbon, and looked at his partner, who met the other's eyes hardily. "If she does," he said with sudden bluster, "the fool that owns the carriage is a ruined man. Mark my words. Extravagant, idle young woman. Die in the workhouse--that's what Bessie Day will do. Look here, Gibbon; you know how things are; you know all I've done for them. I could put up the shutters of the shop to-morrow, and they could not help theirselves. Bessie knows it too. I have not made a secret of these things. She knows I hold them in the hollow of my hand. Yet to hear her cheek me! The daring of it! Gibbon," he touched the younger man's shoulder with the stiff finger of his thick hand, "I used to think that you--eh?" "No," said Gibbon, with decision. "Nice little place all ready--when you've spent a few pounds more--?" "No, thank you."