“You see,” said Mr. Pithey confidentially, “if I get the stuff off some of you old inhabitants I know it’s the right sort, and I don’t mind what I pay.” “If you go on talking much longer, Bertie, you’ll be late for seeing the man who’s coming about the butler’s place,” said Mrs. Pithey, suddenly, from her chair. She had just finished her tea, and swept many crumbs from her lap as she spoke. “Quite right, my dear! Quite right!” Mr. Pithey rose as he spoke. “I’m never late for an appointment, Mrs. North. Matter of conscience with me, never mind who it’s with, butler or duke.” It was characteristic of Mr. Pithey that he put the butler first. “Well, good-by to you all.” Mr. Pithey shook hands largely all round, followed by Mrs. Pithey. “Pleased to have met your Ladyship. Sorry not to have seen your good husband, Mrs. North. _The_ man in this place, I reckon. That margarine business of his is one of the best managed in Leicester, and we don’t let flies walk on us there, anyhow. He goes in for a bit of science and writing as well, doesn’t he? Good all round man, eh?” And, conscious of having been generally pleasant, Mr. Pithey removed his large pale presence to where his Rolls-Royce car awaited him in the front drive. “I know you will forgive me, dear lady,” said Mr. Fothersley, his voice trembling with emotion, “if I do not see them off.” “Indeed, yes!” exclaimed Mrs. North. The allusion to the margarine factory had made her hot all over. “What perfectly hateful people! He did nothing but talk, and she did nothing but eat!” Lady Condor arose briskly from her chair, scattering West Highlanders around her. “Where is Roger?” she demanded. “I am going to be really clever if I can only concentrate sufficiently to say what I mean. Don’t distract my thoughts, any of you! But I must have Roger! He is the only really brainy one among us—at least, I mean he is the only one who’s used his brains. I have naturally a very good brain, but it is rusty from want of use. All our brains are rusty. But what is it I want? Oh yes—Roger. In his study, my dear? Let us all go—yes. Where are my glasses, and my gloves? Please put them in your pocket until I go, Arthur. I cannot afford to lose them as I used to do. Down, children! down!” She took Mrs. North’s arm, and with Mr. Fothersley on her other hand and the dogs in full chorus, started across the lawn toward the house. “Well played, Violet! well played! The child’s as good as ever at it. But where were we going? Oh yes—I must have Roger. We will surprise him through the window. He will be very cross, but he won’t say anything because it’s me. Ah—but there he is——” North’s long figure came out into the sunlight, and as he approached the group he had much the air of a big schoolboy who had been playing truant. “I apologize profusely,” he said. “My intentions were of the very best. I intended to come out to tea, but I happened on Mr. Pithey in the hall, where he was endeavouring to purchase Mansfield——”