"John's a good son," he said. "Don't you worry him." He went up to his tiny bedroom and changed his clothes for a suit of flannels. Then he packed his few belongings and walked out into the world. He lit a pipe and shouldered his portmanteau. "There is a flavour of martyrdom about this affair," he said to himself, as he strolled along, "which appeals to me. I don't think that young man has any sense of humour." He paused every now and then to listen to the birds and admire the view. He had the air of one thoroughly enjoying his walk. Presently he turned off the main road, and wandered along a steep green lane, which was little more than a cart-track. Here he met no one. The country on either side was common land, sown with rocks and the poorest soil, picturesque, but almost impossible of cultivation. A few sheep were grazing upon the hills, but other sign of life there was none. Not a farmhouse--scarcely a keeper's cottage in sight! It was a forgotten corner of a not unpopulous county--the farthest portion of a belt of primeval forest land, older than history itself. Macheson laughed softly as he reached the spot he had had in his mind, and threw his bag over the grey stone wall into the cool shade of a dense fragment of wood. "So much," he murmured softly, "for the lady of Thorpe!" CHAPTER VI CRICKET AND PHILOSOPHY "The instinct for games," Wilhelmina remarked, "is one which I never possessed. Let us see whether we can learn something." In obedience to her gesture, the horses were checked, and the footman clambered down and stood at their heads. Deyes, from his somewhat uncomfortable back seat in the victoria, leaned forward, and, adjusting his eyeglass, studied the scene with interest. "Here," he remarked, "we have the 'flannelled fool' upon his native heath. They are playing a game which my memory tells me is cricket. Everyone seems very hot and very excited." Wilhelmina beckoned to the footman to come round to the side of the carriage. "James," she said, "do you know what all this means?" She waved her hand towards the cricket pitch, the umpires with their white coats, the tent and the crowd of spectators. The man touched his hat. "It is a cricket match, madam," he answered, "between Thorpe and Nesborough." Wilhelmina looked once more towards the field, and recognized Mr. Hurd upon his stout little cob. "Go and tell Mr. Hurd to come and speak to me," she ordered. The man hastened off. Mr. Hurd had not once turned his head. His eyes were riveted upon the game. The groom found it necessary to touch him on the arm before he could attract his attention. Even when he had delivered his message, the agent waited until the finish of the over before he moved. Then he cantered his pony up to the waiting carriage. Wilhelmina greeted him graciously. "I want to know about the cricket match, Mr. Hurd," she asked, smiling. Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round so that he could still watch the game.