"Evening, Father," he called out. The priest jumped up and came to the gate. He was a man about Wagram's own age, or a shade older, a cultured man, and possessed of a fund of strong practical common sense, together with a keen sense of humour. The two were great friends. "Come in, come in, and help a lonely man through a lonely half hour, or as many half-hours as you can spare; though I suppose it's getting too near your dinner time for that." "Why don't you stroll up with me and join us?" said Wagram, subsiding into a cane chair. "Thanks, but I can't to-night, and that for more reasons than one. Now, what'll you be taking?" "Nothing, thanks, just now," answered Wagram, filling his pipe. "I've got a mighty unpleasant job sticking out if ever there was one. Went out to knock over a rabbit or two, and knocked over one of the blue wildebeeste instead. How's that?" The priest gave a whistle. "I wouldn't like to be the man to break the news to the old Squire," he said, "unless the man happened to be yourself. Did you kill it?" "Dead as a herring, or rather, the girl did." "The girl did! What girl?" "Why, the one the brute was chevying. Of course I had to get between, don't you see?" "I don't. You omitted the trifling detail that the said brute was chevying anybody. Now, begin at the beginning." Wagram laughed. This sort of banter was frequent between the two. The priest reached down for the half-smoked pipe he had let fall, relit it, and listened as Wagram gave him the narrative, concise to baldness. "Who was the girl?" he said, when Wagram had done. "That's just the point. First of all, do you know any people in Bassingham named Calmour?" "M'yes. That is to say, I know _of_ them." "What do they consist of?" "One parent--male. I believe three daughters. Sons unlimited." "What sort of people are they?" "Ask the old Squire." "That's good enough answer," laughed Wagram. "You're not going to give them a bad character, so you won't give them any. All right. I'll go and ask him now, and, by Jove," looking at his watch, "it's time I did. Good-night." Father Gayle returned from the wicket, thinking. "So that was the girl!" he said to himself. "The eldest, from the description. I hope she won't make trouble." For, as it happened, he had heard rather more about Delia Calmour and her powers of attractiveness than Wagram had; moreover, he knew that men, even those above the average, were very human. Wagram, in his opinion, was very much above the average, yet he did not want to foresee any entanglement or complication that could not but be disastrous-- absolutely and irrevocably disastrous. CHAPTER THREE. FATHER AND SON.