"It was my grandfather began it," she explained; "he used always to save sweets for us when we stayed with him, and now it's a rule--if we dine downstairs--if there are any--there aren't always, you know--and Fusby's so stingy, if there are any left he takes them and locks them up in a box till next time. You watch Grantly, he's got some too, but he hasn't got anywhere to put them, like me. I must go round behind him when mother collects eyes, then I'll nip up to Ger, for he'll never go to sleep till I've been . . ." "You see," she went on confidentially, "they will take them to Willets to-morrow. He loves good sweets and he never gets any unless they take them to him. They'll make a party of it, and Mrs Willets will give them each a weeny glass of ginger-wine. They'll have a lovely time--do you know Willets?" "By sight, I think . . . he's your keeper, isn't he? From all I can hear to-night he seems a very remarkable person, everyone is talking about him." "Oh, you ought to know him, he's the greatest dear in Redmarley. Everyone who knows us knows Willets, and dukes and people have tried to get him away, he's such a good sportsman, but he won't leave us. We love him so much we couldn't bear it. He couldn't either. He's been keeper here nearly twenty-three years. Before mother came he was here, and now there's all of us he'll never leave." "Have you got enough? Won't they want some for themselves as well as Willets?" "Thanks to you, I've got a splendid lot. One can't always ask people, you know, but I thought you wouldn't mind." "Shall I demand some more in a loud voice? there are some at the end of the table," Eloquent murmured; "I'm very shy, but I can be bold in a good cause." Mary looked at him in some surprise. "Would you really? Ah, it's too late, there's mother----" Eloquent watched her with breathless interest as she "went round the longest way" and received new spoils from Grantly as she passed. How curious they were about their servants these people, where Fusby seemed to control the supplies and the children of the house secretly saved sweets for the keeper. The men did not sit long over their wine, and it was to the hall they went and not to the white-panelled room that Eloquent unconsciously resented as an anachronism; and in the hall bridge-tables were set out. This was a complication Eloquent had not foreseen. Among his father's friends cards were regarded as the Devil's Books, and he did not know the ace of spades from the knave of hearts. Would they force him to play, he wondered. Would he cover himself with shame and ignominy? and what if he said it was against his principles to play for money? He braced himself to be faithful to the traditions in which he had been trained, only to find that on his saying he never _had_ played bridge no one expressed the smallest desire that he should do so.