Cider it had been, and Mrs. Peters had felt ashamed. The sight of three men quaffing deeply of the plebeian beverage gave no comfort: they were doing it to spare her feelings, of course, and she resented the unspoken charity. Besides, she did not greatly care about her guests. Mr. Wild seemed singularly purposeless for a young man, and there was a half-veiled mockery in his speech that grated. Mr. Bangs was clearly of inferior breeding and did not seem at ease. He talked little and nervously, starting at the mention of his name. "He can not have a past," thought Mrs. Peters grudgingly, "but he is certainly not used to the society of gentle-people. I do wish Charles would not ..." The dinner was not a success, though the vicar enjoyed the post-prandial smoke and small-talk. So (leaving our muttons to return to them) they were at tea to-day. Or rather, they had finished tea and were taking idly on the lawn. The vicar was lying comfortably in a basket-chair, trying to color a meerschaum. Mrs. Peters was busy with embroidery. Tony and Robert in deck-chairs were smoking too, contributing their quota to the conversation. To complete the picture, Brown, the odd-job man, was delving holes destined to receive the posts of a pergola. Mrs. Peters' eye wandered from her work and dwelt frigidly on him. "By the way, Charles," she said, "did you ever speak to Brown about that young woman?" "What young woman?" asked the vicar lazily. Mrs. Peters recounted the incident. "No, my dear," said the vicar. "You could not tell me her name: all you had to go on was a voice, and I could hardly catechize him on that. Besides, it may be a worthy attachment." "Very possibly," agreed his wife, though her tone was skeptical. "I have no objections to that. But while he is at work ..." "Awful word!" said Tony, for the sake of saying something. "I wonder what work is like--real continuous work, I mean." "We can offer you plenty," said the vicar cheerfully. "The lawn wants cutting. You could trim the hedge, too, and----" "No thanks," said Tony with a shudder. "Any other time I'd be glad, but just now I'm too busy." "Of course, Mr. Wild, my husband was joking. But don't you think that an idle life...? Would not work--literary work, for example--be a good thing for a young man?" "I'm too old to begin," said Tony wearily. "Now, a hearty young spark like my friend Bangs----" The spark flickered into a feeble flame of protest and died away. "You're wrong, Mr. Wild," said the vicar, taking his pipe out. "Work is the best thing. You'd realize it if you tried it. Of course, now you're on a holiday----" "_Am_ I?" said Tony. "I'm a kind of bear-leader to Bangs. I'm simply full-up with work, looking after him--arranging schemes for his comfort--keeping him out of mischief. Aren't I, Bangs?" Robert smiled in a deprecating way. "You--you exaggerate a little. But--but----"