“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,” might have served for the text of Mr. Pithey’s conversation. “Who’s been at the head of affairs in this village _I_ don’t know,” he said largely, “but more rotten management, more want of enterprise, more lack of ordinary sense, I’ve never come across. Why, you see it everywhere! Here’s the whole place without any light, unless you call lamps and candles light, and a stream running through the place. Water power at your doors, by Jingo! And money in it too, or I shouldn’t be taking it up. Ever been in Germany?” He gulped down his third cup of tea, and looked around at his now more or less interested audience. “Well, they’ve got electric light in every potty little village you go to, got it there still at this minute, and”—Mr. Pithey laid a large yellow hand on Lady Condor’s knee—“_cheaper_ than you can get it over here.” “One really can’t believe it!” exclaimed Mrs. North. “Surely it’s not possible!” “Everything is possible,” said Lady Condor, curiously examining Mr. Pithey’s hand through her glasses. “I was over there, staying near Cologne on business last week,” returned Mr. Pithey impressively. “So I ought to know. And when you know me better, Mrs. North”—Mr. Fothersley’s shudder was almost audible—“you’ll know I don’t talk without my book. I got nails over there—metal, mind you—cheaper than you can get ’em here. P’rhaps you won’t credit that!” He helped himself to more cake, and started afresh. “Now look at the farming round about here. Rotten, that’s what it is, rotten! Never went in for it myself before, but I know when a concern’s run as it should be or not. There’s only one farm in this district that’s real tip-top, and that’s Thorpe. It’s a little bit of a place, but it’s well run. Run by a woman too! But she’s a fool. If you’ll believe me, I offered her a twenty-five per cent. profit on whatever the price she gave for that little place, and she wouldn’t take it. Just have suited me to play with. And there’s one or two things there I’d like up at the Court. By the way, any gentleman or lady here got some of those old lead water tanks they’d like a fancy price for, because I’m a buyer.” By this time the assembly under the beech-tree was more or less paralysed, and Mrs. North was wondering what madness had possessed her to be the first to ask Mr. Pithey to meet Lady Condor. But Lady Condor continued to beam; not only to beam, but every now and then to break into a chuckle. And yet this was not at all the sort of thing one would have expected to amuse her. “Old lead water tanks!” she repeated, thoughtfully. “Dear Arthur, would you mind putting Jock on my lap? Thank you so much. And now Jinny! There, darlings! Don’t be nervous, Mr. Pithey. They never really _bite_ unless you come too close. Let me see, where were we? Oh—yes—tanks! No, I am afraid I have none for sale just now.”