Surbiton, to a stranger, has the look of a sea-side place. Some of the streets are broad and divided by narrow railed-in parks. There are benches here and there, and trees everywhere, while an assembly hall in the centre of the town, and a sort of marine parade along the river, and a band-stand and military concert every Wednesday evening during the summer, give to this charming suburb the air of a coast resort, lacking only the long, spidery, cast-iron pier, which Surbiton may yet build over the river into the Hampton Court grounds, where in spring the waters lie like a broad yellow ocean. When that pier is built, the charge for admission will doubtless be fourpence--double the Brighton price, for Surbiton is prone to attest its exclusiveness in a manner that appeals to the financial imagination. It is proud of the fact that its local rates are high. The Surbiton improvement committee being elected to attend to that matter, and that a first-class season ticket costs two pounds more than to any other place an equal distance from London. The Hope residence was a large, square, yellow house, rather old-fashioned--“an imposing mansion” was the phrase that caught Mrs. Hope’s eye, in the _Times_, before she induced her husband to buy it--and it stood in extensive well-wooded grounds. Barney drove up to it in one of the open victorias which stand for hire at the station, a class of vehicle that adds to the sea-side appearance of Surbiton. Telling the man to wait, he sprang up the steps and knocked, for there was nothing so modern as a bell at the front door. He found his mother in the drawingroom, and with her Lady Mary Fanshaw, who had driven over from her father’s country place in the Dorking direction. Lady Mary was a nice girl, rather shy, who blushed prettily when Barney came in, and had a great admiration for the young man’s hitherto unappreciated artistic talents, liking a painter better than a manufacturer. Her father, having ascertained definitely that Barney’s possession of a studio would in no way interfere with his ultimate coming into the proprietorship of the remunerative factory, made no objection to the acquaintanceship between the Hope family and his own. “How-de-do, Lady Mary,” cried the young man, shaking hands with her. “How are you, mater?” he added to his mother, kissing her on the cheek. “Barnard,” said the elder lady, with a touch of severity in her tone, “I did not expect to see you in Surbiton so soon. I thought you would attend to the business I spoke of.” “It’s all been attended to, mater. I don’t let the grass grow under my feet--not that it’s a good day for grass either,” continued the young man cheerfully, warming his hands at the fire. “Beastly weather,” he remarked to Lady Mary, who assented to the terse statement. “Yes, mater; my motto is, what is worth doing is worth doing quickly--speedily done is twice done--I think there’s a proverb to that effect, don’t you know. If there’s not, there ought to be.”