Thus Sir John, toying gloomily with knife and fork, was presently aware of stir and bustle within the house and of stamping hoofs and rumbling wheels without: wherefore he arose and crossed to the window in time to see Rose’s mistress, muffled to the eyes, clamber into the great four-horsed travelling-chariot, followed by Rose herself similarly attired; he watched the footmen close the door, put up the steps and swing themselves into the rumble, heard the hoarse command of the driver, a sudden clatter of straining hoofs, and away rolled the cumbrous vehicle towards Paris. “And despite her chin!” sighed Sir John within himself. “Poor, silly, innocent child! Ah well, perchance her prayers and little cross may avail. Heaven send it so——” Here he was roused by a huge hand on his shoulder and Sir Hector’s voice in his ear: “Och-heigh! Are ye wearyin’ for Parus—sae sune, John?” “Paris? Ha—’tis a sink of iniquity!” he retorted so fiercely that Sir Hector peered. “Oo aye,” he nodded. “’Tis a’ that, laddie, and yet ye contrived tae pit up wi’t for five lang year.” At this Sir John frowned and was silent. “Aweel, aweel,” quoth Sir Hector, “there’s England waitin’ ye, aye, and happiness, I trust——” “Happiness!” repeated Sir John scornfully. “Why not, lad? ’Tis time ye married and settled doon——” “Horrific thought!” growled Sir John. “Why, then, John,” quoth Sir Hector, his English suddenly very precise, “you might begin to take an interest in your own affairs, particularly your estates; they are damnably mismanaged, I hear, more especially at High Dering ... where you were born and your mother died ... sweet soul!” “High Dering!” repeated Sir John. “I’ faith it seems a far cry to the old house—the green slopes of Firle and our good South Downs! ’Tis long since we saw ’em together, Hector?” “Yes, John, it is seven years and more since you left High Dering for London and the modish world. And to-day, lad, instead of being a plain country gentleman content in the prosperity of your tenants, here you stand a man of fashion, a town gallant full of polite airs and tricks and graces, but curst unhappy by your looks—while High Dering is going to the devil!” “’Tis mismanaged, you say, Hector? And yet Sturton, my bailiff, seems to do very well——” “Oh, excellent well, John, for you—and himself! But ’tis vastly otherwise with your tenantry, I hear.” “You contrive to hear a great deal, Hector, one way or another!” “No, just in the one way, lad, with my ears. Ye see, Nature gi’e me eyes an’ lugs an’ I use ’em——” “And you tell me Sturton is a rogue?” “I say go and see for yourself, John. Get ye to High Dering and look, John, listen—and act!” “I will, Hector. The peace and quiet of the place will be grateful, besides.” “Ye’ll no’ find it sae peaceful, lad, nor yet sae quiet whateffer!” “Why, pray?” demanded Sir John, with sudden interest. “Well, John, ye’ll ken the name o’ Lord Sayle, I’m thinkin’?”