“The triumph of hope over experience, eh?” remarked Mr. Duberly, who was rather fond of extracting from the limited stores of his memory sundry quotations, ancient as they were classic. “But what has the man been doing down here? Is he in society, or is he not? He is a fine-looking fellow enough for a middle-aged man. I saw him one day driving what you call a ‘trap’ in the High-street at Leigh, and asked who he was. What is his connection, I wonder--for I suppose he has one--with Sandyshire?” “O, as to that, there is reason enough for his hanging about here,” said Arthur, glad, as it seemed, to offer a legitimate guarantee for Colonel Norcott’s quasi-respectability. “The Norcotts are, or I should rather say _were_, a county family. Fred Norcott’s father was a rich man, and his mother, who is nearly related to the Pembertons, has a comfortable jointure, luckily for her, as her son (there was only him) managed to get rid of everything else very early in his career, I fancy.” “And lives now upon his wits, I suppose?” “Partly; and then I imagine his mother helps him a little; not much, though, for she is married again to a Mr. Baker, who is not particularly attached to Colonel Fred. The Bakers--he is a retired solicitor, or something of that kind--live in a pretty little place about three miles the other side of Leigh; and the fact of its lying convenient to the Gawthorpe racecourse is quite sufficient to account for Fred Norcott turning up occasionally in these parts. And now, sir, having told you all I know and suspect about the family, I think I may as well go and say good-bye to Sophy.”