Tallente drank his whisky and soda almost greedily and felt the benefit of it, although he was still weary. He had walked for five miles in the company of ghosts and their faces had been grey. Perhaps, too, it was the passing of his youth which brought this tiredness to his limbs. "Robert," he confessed abruptly, "I was a fool to come down here at all." "It's dreary at this time of the year unless you've time to shoot or hunt, sir. Why not motor to Bath to-morrow? I could wire for rooms, and I could drive you up to London the next day. Motoring's a good way of getting the air, sir, and you won't overtire yourself." "I'll think of it in the morning," his master promised. "My wife has found the silver, sir," Robert announced, as he turned to leave the room, "and I managed to get a little fish. That, with some soup, a pheasant, and a fruit tart, we thought--" "I shall be alone, Robert," Tallente interrupted. "There is no one coming for dinner." The man's disappointment was barely concealed. He sighed as he took up the tray. "Very good, sir. Your clothes are all out. I'll turn on the hot water in the bathroom." Tallente threw off his rain and mud-soaked clothes, bathed, changed and descended to the dining room just as the gong sounded. Robert was in the act of moving the additional place from the little round dining table which he had drawn up closer to the wood fire, but his master stopped him. "You can let those things be," he directed. "Take away the champagne, though. I shan't want that."