Blake flushed with pleasure at this word of praise from a stranger, and Dick delighted with the eulogy of his friend's talent chimed in delightedly. "'Tis--isn't it jolly? and he sings comic songs--give us one old chap." Blake would have consented, particularly as the rustics seemed anxious to hear something more suited to their comprehension than the preceding ballad, but Nestley hastily intervened. "No, no," he said quickly, unwilling to spoil his first impression of that charming voice by hearing it lowered to the level of music hall singing, "don't do that, it will spoil everything." The young man looked at him in surprise. "I don't care much about them myself," said Reginald frankly, "but people down here like them better than sentimental ditties." At this moment, Job Kossiter announced to the assembled company that it was time to close the bar, so in a few moments the room was empty of all save Nestley and his two companions. Dick asked him to have a glass of ale but he refused. "I never drink," he said bluntly, "I'm teetotal." They both opened their eyes at this, but were too polite to make any comments, so in order to relieve the awkwardness of the situation, Dr. Nestley began to speak. "I suppose you've got some queer characters down here," he said, filling a fresh pipe of tobacco. "Rather," said Dick, promptly, "old Garsworth for instance." "Is that the squire you're talking of?" said a drawling voice at the door, and on looking towards it, the trio saw Mr. Basil Beaumont strolling into the room. Nestley grew a shade stiffer in his manner as his enemy came towards them, but Dick Pemberton turned his merry face to the new comer and nodded an answer. "Do you know him?" he asked. Beaumont took up his favourite position in front of the fire and smoked complacently. "Yes. When I left this place twenty-three years ago, I heard a lot about him." "He's a miser," said Blake meditatively. "He was when I left, and I presume he still is," replied Beaumont, "but from all I've heard, he used to be pretty gay in his youth." "Youth," echoed Dick scornfully, "was he ever a youth?" "I believe he was, somewhere about the Flood. Why he must be ninety now." "Over seventy," said Blake. "Thank you for the correction," answered Beaumont, casting a sidelong look at him; "over seventy, yes, I should say seventy-three or four, as he was about fifty when I left; he had lived a riotous life up to the age of forty, then he suddenly took to saving money, why, nobody knows." "Oh yes, they do," said Reginald, taking his cigar out of his mouth. "It's common gossip now." "Tell us all about it," said Nestley, settling himself in his chair. "It's a curious story," said Blake leisurely. "Squire Garsworth led a fast life, as Beaumont says, till he was forty, then he stumbled on some books about the transmigration of the soul." "Pythagoras?" asked Beaumont.