Edward came out to him. "Good-bye, Ned," he said. "Good luck," and put his hand almost affectionately on his son's shoulder. "I'm going down to look in on Trupp and curse him from the Board for leaving the Whitechapel. Damn tomfoolery. He'd a career before him, that man." CHAPTER VI THE MANOR-HOUSE When he left his son to carry out his threat, Mr. Caspar struck into the steep main street of Old Town, which preserved still the somewhat stagnant atmosphere of a country village. On the left the parish church, square-towered, massive, grey, stood on a slight eminence over a green hollow, called still the Moot, in which was a pond that may have been the source of the original bourne. Beneath the church the old Star inn hung its sign-board across the way. Here Borough Lane crossed the street, running steeply down between the church and the inn and as steeply up under noble beech-trees along the garden-wall of the Queen Anne mansion which must clearly be the Manor-house. The brass-plate on the door confirmed the visitor's conjecture. Yes; Mr. Trupp was in. The house was beautiful within as it was plain and solid outside. In the hall wainscoted, spacious, and with shining oaken floors, a grandfather's clock swung its pendulum rhythmically. The room into which Mr. Caspar was shown had a wide bow-window looking out over gracious lawns and laburnum-trees in blossom to the elms in Saffrons Croft. Mr. Trupp entered. He was a slight man with a moustache, who tilted his shrewd, rather sharp face to inspect his visitor through pince-nez. "Well, Mr. Caspar," he growled genially. "Ah, you runagate!" scolded the other. "What d'you mean by it?" The doctor nodded at the window. A beautiful young woman with chestnut hair, bare to the sun, was walking with extreme deliberation across the lawn, leaning on the arm of a nurse. "That's one reason," he said. The other gazed. "Yes; you've given her the right setting," he remarked at last in a strangely quiet voice, touched with melancholy. A greyhound emerged from a shrubbery and crossed the lawn after the two women at a stealthy trot. "That's another," said Mr. Trupp. "Sport!" cried the other. "Bah!--and you might have been a great man!--a credit to the Whitechapel. What's the next?" "Professional," grunted the Doctor. "Third and last of course," retorted the other. "That's you English all over. You don't know what work is. Still, Old Town for your wife and New Town for your practice--may be something in it after all." The surgeon opened the window. "Come and be introduced," he said, and led the way across the lawn. "She'd like to meet you."