“Well, it might be another case of Enoch Arden,” he said. “This man might have been missing for so long that he had been taken for dead. That used to be very common in sea-faring places and among sea-faring people. His wife or sweet-heart may have married another. Or I can imagine a man being unwilling to make himself known when relatives have come into possession of his more material property.” Alice’s heart leaped. She remembered Enoch Arden only vaguely, but enough to feel a thrill at her heart at the thought of re-reading it in her bed that night. There was a copy of Tennyson’s complete poems in the book-case of the room she occupied--which was Reuben’s old room. The Smiths’ horse was a fine, strong creature which did not get sufficient exercise, but he didn’t fancy starting out just at supper time any more than Miss Penny’s fat pony, and he showed his reluctance plainly. It came to Alice that this was her chance to find out more of Richard Cartwright. She had said she would seize her first opportunity. Besides, Mr. Converse had spoken slightingly of him. It wouldn’t be bad to have Mr. Langley’s own word as to his respect and admiration for the dead genius. “O Mr. Langley, I have--well living in the cottage where he lived I suppose it is natural for me to wonder about Mr. Cartwright,” she observed. “But--no one seems to have anything to say about him. Of course, he can’t be forgotten?” “His son has rather overshadowed Cartwright’s memory,” Mr. Langley remarked quietly. “One certainly hears enough of _him_,” the girl remarked. “O Miss Lorraine, I hope you and your mother aren’t getting the impression that Reuben is anything of a prig,” he protested, “for he isn’t. He is--well, he is four-square, that boy is, Miss Lorraine, and I am happy to think that you will see him and judge for yourself in the Christmas holidays.” “I shall be pleased, I’m sure,” she murmured conventionally. “But I can’t help being more interested in the father,--being so musical and wanting a pipe organ in his house and dying before it ever came to him. You knew him well, Mr. Langley?” “Yes, I knew--and loved the man well,” he said sadly. “He was a charming fellow, the best of companions and friends.” “And he played--well?” “To me he seemed almost a genius,” he replied, and Alice heard herself repeating it triumphantly to John Converse. “And yet--people have forgotten him already!” she exclaimed. “One would think--O Mr. Langley, has there ever been any idea of a memorial for him here in Farleigh?” “O no, nothing of the kind,” he said in some surprise. “But don’t you think there should be?” she cried. “In his case, I think it is better as it is,” he said. Alice’s heart sank. O dear, how terribly strict Mr. Langley was! “You mean because he drank?” she asked.