"This place seems a pretty spot," the shabby wayfarer went on. "How far is it to Northampton?" "Twelve miles." The stranger sighed, glanced across at the old grandfather clock, and went on eating. There was silence after this, broken only by the buzzing of the flies against the window close to him, and the placing or adjusting of the tumblers which Warr had gravely begun to polish. "Let's see," remarked the stranger reflectively at last, "if this is Sibberton, the old Earl of Stanchester lives here, I suppose?" "He did live here, but he died a year ago." "And young Lord Sibberton has come into the property--eh? Why, he must be one of the richest men in England," the fellow remarked with something of a sneer. "They say he is," was Warr's reply. Mention of the name of Stanchester caused me to prick my ears, for I had been private secretary to the old Earl and was now acting in that same capacity to the young man who had recently succeeded to the estates. "And his sister, the fair one--Lady Lolita they call her--is she married yet?" inquired the half-famished man. "No. She still lives with her brother and his wife up at the Hall." The stranger grunted, and I noticed that he smiled faintly for the first time, but just at that moment he turned and catching sight of my back through the half-opened door, started slightly and appeared to be somewhat embarrassed. Why did he make that inquiry regarding Lolita, I wondered? My father, Sir George Woodhouse, having been an intimate friend of the old Earl's, and his aide-de-camp when he was Viceroy of India, I had been taken into the latter's confidential service as soon as I came down from Cambridge, and for the past ten years had lived as a careless bachelor in a pleasant old ivy-covered house at the end of the village, being treated more as one of the Stanchester family than as the millionaire landowner's confidential secretary. The present Earl had been at Cambridge with me, and there was a strong bond of friendship between us. "Yours has been a strange life," said the publican at last, in order to obtain more details of the stranger and his motive for inquiring after the people at the Hall. "It has; I've drifted half over the world, but the passion for wandering is now pretty well worn out of me," wearily responded the other, taking a sip at his beer. "They say there's no place like home. I used to think so when the ship was steaming over the blue sea at nights with all asleep below and the clear stars shining over me. I don't think I shall live long; that's why I'm back again once more in England. But," he added, "we were talking of Lol--er, I mean Lady Lolita. Isn't she even engaged?" "Not that I know of," answered the innkeeper. "If she were, some of the servants would be sure to chatter. There ain't much as goes on up at the Hall without me knowing it."