Mr. Wright smiled enigmatically. “Ah, poor old Danny Mawgan--he made the mistake of his life there. Ten pounds was what the Endellions offered him to adopt the baby for good and all; it seemed a great lot to him at the time, he’s not too bright, you may have noticed. But now, of course, the money’s gone, and the child isn’t, so to speak.” Mr. Wright was very pleased with the delicate way he had manoeuvred the story into Ursula’s consciousness, without having done anything so commonplace as actually talking village scandal. “About that house, now----” The door-bell tinkled again, and Doug strode in, wearing very old, very baggy, shaggy tweeds, full of loose ends and string and knots, and very woolly stockings. Ursula introduced Mr. Wright: “He says perhaps he can put us into communication with somebody who knows some one who has heard”--sinking her voice to a careful whisper, for Mr. Wright’s manner was infectious--“about a house, Doug.” “Good egg!” cried Doug exuberantly. “Where is this house? Let’s go and have a look at it.” Mr. Wright coughed, and on the pretext of re-arranging some tins, came round the counter and closed the door which Doug had left wide open. “You won’t think me interfering, Mr. Barrison, if I ask you first for just how long you’ve taken Parc Gooth? Don’t tell me unless it’s convenient. I’m one that can mind his own business, thank God. And you’ll find out they’re not many of them in this place who can.” “No, I suppose not. Did you choose to settle down here on spec, or because you’d heard about it?” “_If_ I’d heard about it, Mr. Barrison, I would not have chosen to settle down here!” His expressive beard recorded satisfaction at having scored a neat point in cynical repartee. “Oh come--I’d call it quite a good spot for a man to end his days!” “He’d certainly end them quicker here than anywhere else, Mr. Barrison.” And the beard found it hard to control its jubilance. “How long did you say they’d bound you to at Parc Gooth?” “Only three months, and furnished, of course. I thought we’d be sure to have landed something permanent by then.” “Ah.... You want to stay here permanently?” “Rather. I mean to farm.” “Ah....” Mr. Wright concealed knowledge of the conflicting rumours, but all alike sinister, which were afloat in St. Miniot, to account for the Barrisons’ arrival among them: That he (or she) was a dipsomaniac. That he (or she) was a criminal, either escaped to St. Miniot, or paid to keep out of the way by the family he (or she, or both) had disgraced. That he (or she) was a spy in the pay of some foreign power. That he (or she) was an incurable victim to drugs.