"The deuce! And, like Bottom, I support life on sixpence a day, which, unlike Bottom, I have to earn. There is no Theseus to give me a pension." "You didn't seem to be so very hard up when I met you six months ago in the _Criterion Restaurant_," said the young squire dryly. "Oh, one has to keep up some sort of appearance and dress in purple and fine linen, even if one cannot afford to do so," answered Carrington easily. "It is only your rich man who can dispense with Solomon-in-all-his-glory raiment, old fellow. Anyhow, poor or rich, I was delighted to meet you again." "Were you?" Hendle appeared to be a trifle sceptical. "You didn't hurry yourself to come down to Barship anyhow." "I didn't; that's a fact. I thought you might fancy that I would borrow, if I came too speedily. Hence the six months' hesitation." "Oh, rot! You know that I'm not the sort of fellow to grudge a loan to an old school chum if he asks for it." "You were always a good chap, Hendle," said Carrington again. "But I am not going to ask. I have bread and butter, if not jam, and one must be grateful for the necessities of life in these hard times." Hendle nodded with a lazy laugh and the young men lighted fresh cigarettes as they crossed the lawn to gain the avenue which sloped gradually for a quarter of a mile in the direction of the village. Behind them they left a delightfully ugly mansion of Georgian architecture mellowed by time into positive beauty. The Big House--its local name--draped itself majestically in dark trailing ivy, showing here and there the bland softened hue of its ruddy brick walls. "My mind to me a kingdom is," quoted Carrington with a backward glance at the peace and beauty they were leaving. "A poetic, but truly unsatisfactory saying, Hendle. Your acres are a more tangible possession than the stuff of which dreams are made. Let us go hence."