His amusement blended with curiosity, Michael saw for the first time the picturesque Mr. Sampson Longvale. He came out to meet them, his bald head glistening in the afternoon sunlight, his strapped fawn-coloured trousers, velvet waistcoat and old-fashioned stock completely supporting Gregory Penne’s description of him. “Delighted to see you, Mr. Knebworth. I’ve a very poor house, but I offer you a very rich welcome! I have had tea served in my little dining-room. Will you please introduce me to the members of your company?” The courtesy, the old-world spirit of dignity, were very charming, and Michael felt a warm glow toward this fine old man who brought to this modern atmosphere the love and the fragrance of a past age. “I should like to shoot a scene before we lose the light, Mr. Longvale,” said Knebworth, “so, if you don’t mind the meal being a scrambling one, I can give the company a quarter of an hour.” He looked round. “Where is Foss?” he asked. “I want to change a scene.” “Mr. Foss said he was walking from Griff Towers,” said one of the company. “He stopped behind to speak to Sir Gregory.” Jack Knebworth cursed his dilatory scenario man with vigour and originality. “I hope he hasn’t stopped to borrow money,” he said savagely. “That fellow’s going to ruin my credit if I’m not careful.” He had overcome his objection to his new extra; possibly he felt that there was nobody else in the party whom he could take into his confidence without hurt to discipline. “Is he that way inclined?” “He’s always short of money and always trying to make it by some fool trick which leaves him shorter than he was before. When a man gets that kind of bug in his head he’s only a block away from prison. Are you going to stay the night? I don’t think you’ll be able to sleep here,” he said, changing the subject, “but I suppose you’ll be going back to London?” “Not to-night,” said Michael quickly. “Don’t worry about me. I particularly do not wish to give you any trouble.” “Come and meet the old man,” said Knebworth under his breath. “He’s a queer old devil with the heart of a child.” “I like what I’ve seen of him,” said Michael. Mr. Longvale accepted the introduction all over again. “I fear there will not be sufficient room in my dining-room for the whole company. I have had a little table laid in my study. Perhaps you and your friends would like to have your tea there?” “Why, that’s very kind of you, Mr. Longvale. You have met Mr. Brixan?” The old man smiled and nodded. “I have met him without realizing that I’ve met him. I never remember names—a curious failing which was shared by my great-great-uncle Charles, with the result that he fell into extraordinary confusion when he wrote his memoirs, and in consequence many of the incidents he relates have been regarded as apocryphal.”