He regarded me with an air of infinite satisfaction. Surprised, I held my peace. 'It was as I foresaw. The old fellow welcomed me with open arms. His daughters gave me tea. I had really a very pleasant time.' I mused and wondered. 'You didn't expect it; I can see that.' 'You told me that Mr. Armitage would recognise your name,' I answered evasively. 'Precisely. Not long ago I gave him, through an agent, a very handsome price for some pictures he had to sell.' Again he looked at me, watching the effect of his words. 'Of course,' he continued, 'there were ample apologies for his treatment of us yesterday. By the bye, I take it for granted you don't carry a dress-suit in your bag?' 'Heaven forbid!' 'To be sure--pray don't misunderstand me. I meant that you had expressly told me of your avoidance of all such formalities. Therefore you will be glad that I excused you from dining at the Hall.' For a moment I felt uncomfortable, but after all I _was_ glad not to have the trouble of refusing on my own account. 'Thanks,' I said, 'you did the right thing.' We walked over to the inn, and sat down at a rude but not unsatisfying table. After dinner, Ireton proposed that we should smoke in the garden. 'It's quiet, and we can talk.' The sun had just set; the sky was magnificent with afterglow. Ireton's hint about privacy led me to hope that he was going to talk more confidentially than hitherto, and I soon found that I was not mistaken. 'Do you know,' he began, calling me by my name, 'I fancy you have been criticising me--yes, I know you have. You think I made an ass of myself about that affair in the wood. Well, I have no doubt I did. Now that it has turned out pleasantly, I can see and admit that there was nothing to make a fuss about.' I smiled. 'Very well. Now, you're a writer. You like to get at the souls of men. Suppose I show you a bit of mine.' He had drunk freely of the potent ale, and was now sipping a strong tumbler of hot whisky. Possibly this accounted in some measure for his communicativeness. 'Up to the age of five-and-twenty I was clerk in a drug warehouse. To this day even the faintest smell of drugs makes my heart sink. If I can help it, I never go into a chemist's shop. I was getting a pound a week, and I not only lived on it, but kept up a decent appearance. I always had a good suit of clothes for Sundays and holidays--made at a tailor's in Holborn. Since he disappeared I've never been able to find any one who fitted me so well. I paid six-and-six a week for a top bedroom in a street near Gray's Inn Road. Did you suppose I had gone through the mill?' I made no answer, and, after looking at me for a moment, Ireton resumed: