"Has Mr. Wornock any land in the county?" asked Allan. "Land, sir? Yes, sir," replied the waiter, with a touch of wonder at being asked such a question. "Mr. Wornock is Lord of the Manor of Discombe, sir--a very large estate--and a fine old house, added to by Mr. Wornock's grandfather. The old part was built in the time of King Charles, sir, and the new part is very fine and picturesque--and the gardens are celebrated in these parts, sir--quite a show place--but Mrs. Wornock never allows it to be shown. She lives very secluded, don't give no entertainments herself, nor visit scarce anywheres. They do say that she was not right in her mind for some years after Mr. Wornock's birth, but that's six and twenty years ago, and there may not be any truth in the report. Gongozorla, sir, or cheddar?" "Neither, thanks. Are the Wornocks an old family?" "Very old family, sir. Old Saxon name. Came over with Edward the Confessor." "And who was Mrs. Wornock?" "Ah, there's a little 'itch there, sir. Nobody knows who Mrs. Wornock was, or where she came from--and they do say she wasn't county, which is a pity, seeing that the Wornocks had always married county prior to that marriage," added the waiter, proud of his concluding phrase. "Mr. Wornock is abroad, I understand. Where?" "Inja, sir. Cavalry regiment, the Eighteenth South Sarum Lancers." "Strange for a man owning so fine a property to go into the army." "Well, sir, don't you see, the life at the Manor must have been a very dull one for a young gentleman. No entertainments. No staying company. Mrs. Wornock, she don't care for nothink but music--and, after all, sir, music ain't everythink to a young man. He 'unted, and he 'unted, and he 'unted, from the time he 'ad legs to cross a pony. Wherever there was 'ounds to be follered, he follered 'em. But hunting ain't everythink in life, and it don't last long," added the waiter, philosophically. "Mrs. Wornock, as dowager, should have withdrawn to her Dower-house, and left the young man free to be as jovial as he liked at the Manor." "Ah, that may come to pass when he marries, sir, but not before. Mr. Wornock is a devoted son. He'd be the last to turn his mother out-of-doors. And he's almost as keen on music as his mother, I've heard say; plays the fiddle just like a professional--and the organ." "Well," sighed Carew, having heard all he wanted to hear, "I bear no grudge against Mr. Geoffrey Wornock because he happens to resemble me; but I wish with all my heart that he could have made it convenient to live in any other neighbourhood than that in which my lot is cast. That will do, waiter; I don't want any more wine. You may clear the table, and bring me some tea at nine o'clock."