"I could not do less than ask them," she observed. "I hope you are not vexed." "You did quite right, Lucy," he cheerfully answered. "I shall be glad to see them." "I don't know how many will come. Perhaps all; except Mrs. Lloyd, who never goes out anywhere. I hope Theresa will give up St. Jerome's for the rest of the day, and stay at home to help me entertain them." Karl smiled. "To make sure of that you should invite Mr. Cattacomb." "But you would not like that, would you?" "No. I was only joking, Lucy. Here she is." The Lloyds had said they would come early, and Karl strolled out to meet the eleven o'clock train, leaving his wife decorating her drawing-room with flowers. Unhappy though Lucy was, she was proud of her home, and pleased that it should find admiration in the eyes of the world. As Karl was passing Clematis Cottage, he saw Mr. Smith seated at the open window, leisurely enjoying the freshened air, and smoking a cigar. Karl had been wanting to take a close, observant view of him; and he turned in on the spur of the moment. The asking for something which he really required afforded an excuse. Mr. Smith rose up to receive him graciously, and threw his half-smoked cigar out at the window. "I think you have the plan of the out-lying lands of the estate, Mr. Smith, where the new cottages are to be built? Will you spare it to me in the course of the day? I will send Hewitt for it." "Certainly, Sir Karl; it is at your service. Won't you take a seat? The bit of a breeze at this open window is quite refreshing." Karl sat down. Mr. Smith's green glasses lay on the table, and he could enjoy as clear a view of him as he pleased. The agent talked away, all unconscious no doubt that notes were being taken of his face and form. "It is his own hair," mentally spoke Karl. "'Very dark brown,' they said; 'nearly black.' Just so. At the time of the escape Salter had neither whiskers nor beard nor moustache: the probability being, they thought, that he had now a full crop of all. Just so, again. Eyebrows: thick and arched, Grimley said: these are not thick; nor, what I should call, arched: perhaps there may be some way of manipulating eyebrows, and these have undergone the process. Eyes brown: yes. Face fresh and pleasant: yes. Voice and manners free and genial: yes. Age?--there I can't make the two ends meet. I am sure this man's forty. Is it Salter, or is it not?" finally summed up Karl. "I don't know, I _think_ it is: but I don't know." "Truefit the farmer spoke to me yesterday, Sir Karl," broke in Mr. Smith on his musings. "He was asking whether you and Lady Andinnian viewed this new farce on his grounds with approbation. That's what he called it--farce. Meaning St. Jerome's." "I suppose he does not like it," observed Karl.