"Nothing would induce me to offer you such a thing, sir. If you'll excuse my mentioning a personal matter, sir, I have lived in good houses, some of the best in England, before coming here, and I'm aware that lemonade--with the possible exception of the home-brewed variety when suffering from influenza----" "If it's not lemonade," said Sir Evelyn, "what is it?" "My suggestion, sir--and I hope you will not regard it as unduly familiar from one in my position in life--is that you should be my guest, my private guest, for perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and during that time share a jug of beer with me in my little room, my own snuggery, behind the bar. There is, of course, no question of payment. Therefore there is no breach of the law." "But I should like to pay for what I drink," said Sir Evelyn. He was as thirsty as a man can be, but he shrank from drinking at the expense of a footman. James Hinton's eyes were fixed on a large photograph of one of England's stately homes which hung, nicely framed, on the wall of the tap-room. He spoke in a tone of reminiscence, as a man does who tells a tale of old times, a tale which has nothing whatever to do with the life of to-day. "In the houses in which I used to live, sir, it was customary for guests to offer some slight token of esteem, what is commonly spoken of as a tip, to the servants when departing. There was of course no obligation to give anything. The tip was entirely voluntary, a gift, sir, not a payment, if you catch my meaning." Sir Evelyn caught it; he was to have his glass of beer in spite of the law, but it was to cost him two and sixpence, at least two and sixpence, perhaps five shillings. In the best houses it is scarcely possible to offer less than five shillings to the first footman. "Hailey Compton is a very quiet place," said James Hinton a few minutes later when he had filled Sir Evelyn's glass. "I don't know that I ever came across a quieter place. No society, unless you count the vicar and his lady. A very nice gentleman, the vicar, though not very energetic. But perhaps you know our vicar, the Rev. Mr. Eames?" Sir Evelyn did not and said so, holding out his glass for more beer. If he had to pay five shillings for his drink he felt entitled to quench his thirst. "Perhaps you know Mrs. Eames, sir," said Hinton, pouring out the beer. "A remarkable lady, Mrs. Eames, if I may say so without disrespect. A very remarkable lady, though a little trying at times to the vicar." Sir Evelyn took no more interest in Mrs. Eames than he did in the vicar. He was not a rural dean, nor an archdeacon, and his visit to Hailey Compton had nothing to do with the church. "But of course not, sir," said Hinton. "It's not to be expected that you would know Mrs. Eames or the vicar." Then he waited, hoping to hear what had brought Sir Evelyn to Hailey Compton. He was not disappointed. "I understand," said Sir Evelyn, "that there is a remarkable sea cave in this neighbourhood."