Again, he had learned that it was the old servant who had informed the girl concerning the scarfpin episode. Kerry said that the man who owned the scarfpin was guilty; and Kerry knew to whom the scarfpin belonged. If he could only be induced to part with the information there might be some chance of solving the mystery; but Kerry's--or rather Denis Bantry's--past conduct and present attitude were so doubtful that it was difficult to know how he would act, even though he were driven into a corner. Tait had little doubt in his own mind that Kerry was the old servant of Captain Larcher, for no one but he knew the truth about the scarfpin. Nevertheless, he failed to understand why the man had changed his name, and why he was staying at Thorston as servant to a recluse like Paynton. Only a personal interview with him could settle these vexed questions, but Tait was of two opinions whether Kerry would be amenable to reason, and confess his reasons for such concealment. Thus thinking, and trying to come to some conclusion regarding the new aspect placed upon affairs by the conversation with Jenny, the little man arrived home, and learning that Claude was still in the garden, he went there to report the result of his interview, and discuss the situation. Larcher was leaning back in a comfortable garden chair, with an open book on his knee, but, instead of reading, he was staring with unseeing eyes into the fresh green of the tree above him. On hearing Tait's brisk step he hastily lowered his head with a flush, as though he had been caught doing something wrong, and grew still more confused when he saw his friend looking at him with a queer expression of amusement. "She is a pretty girl," said Tait significantly; "and I don't wonder you are thinking of her." "Thinking of who?" asked Claude merrily, at this reading of his thoughts. "Are you a mind reader?" "So far as you are concerned, I am. Knowing how easily influenced you are by the sight of a pretty face, I don't think I am far wrong in guessing that your thoughts were with Jenny Paynton." "Well, yes," replied Claude, with a frank laugh. "I do not deny it. The glimpse I caught of her as we drove past in the cart charmed me greatly. I have rarely seen a more sympathetic and piquant face." "Bah! You say that of every woman you meet. Your geese are always swans." "Jenny is, at all events!" said Larcher promptly; "and you cannot deny that; but I admire her exceedingly--that is, as a pretty woman. You see, I already call her Jenny in my own mind, but that is because you always talk of her by her Christian name. Now, Jenny is----" "My dear Don Juan," said Tait blandly; "don't you think we had better leave off these erotics and get to business. You must not indulge in the ideal to the exclusion of the real."