Deane held out his hand and welcomed his visitor--a small, fussy-looking little man with a gray moustache, and a somewhat awkward air of being at his ease. He wore a tweed knickerbocker suit,--very old-fashioned, and of local make,--a flannel collar, and an ill-chosen tie. He shook hands with his host in a perfunctory sort of manner. "Thought I must just look you up," he explained, "living out here. Such a lonely spot, too! You are going to play golf, of course?" Deane shook his head. "I never play," he answered. "I have come here to rest." To rest! The word seemed a strange one to the fussy little man, who was already taking stock of his surroundings. Photographs in silver frames, a pile of books--all new, a gun and fishing-rod, and other such belongings--all, naturally, the best of their sort! "Well, but you must do something!" Mr. Sarsby remarked. "You cannot sit here all day and look at the sea,--like the fishermen," he continued, with a little laugh. "A very lazy lot--our fishermen," he went on. "Never go out if there's a ripple on the sea." Deane nodded. "The tides," he remarked, "are rather treacherous, I should think." The servant brought in tea and a great dish of strawberries, at which Mr. Sarsby gazed in amazement. "Strawberries!" he exclaimed. "Why, we don't begin to think about them for another six weeks!" "Is that so?" answered Deane, carelessly. "I never know anything about seasons, and my man is doing the catering. Miss Sinclair, you must make the tea for us. I am afraid our methods are a little crude, but you see we are trying to get along without any women-servants." Mr. Sarsby was a little abashed. He had seldom sat down to a table covered by a cloth of such fine linen, and he had certainly never been waited upon, of late years, by a man-servant. His little eyes roved inquisitively around. "You come from London, sir, my niece tells me," he remarked. "From London," Deane replied. "A wonderful place!" Mr. Sarsby said, with a sigh. "Since I retired, unfortunately, I have had to drop out of life altogether." "Your health?" Deane suggested politely. "My health, and my ridiculously small pension," Mr. Sarsby answered. "I can't make out what the country is coming to. Years ago, pensions were altogether on a different scale. To-day, it seems to me that every government is always trying to shirk its obligations to those who go out and help to build up the empire." This was Mr. Sarsby's favorite little speech, which he made regularly several times a week in the village, and once a year at a club dinner. Deane received it in sympathetic silence. "Tell me how you spend your time, Miss Sinclair?" he asked. "You play golf, I think you told me."