behind him, and the old man ruined him

self paying them."

Bristling with curiosity, Sir Peter endeavoured to look detached. But at this point Mr Vance, remembering, perhaps, that Mr Nevill Tyson was a great man in his customer's county, and chilled a little by Sir Peter's manner, checked the flow of his reminiscences. 'He was a wild young scamp-another two inches round the waist, sir-but I daresay he's settled down steady enough by this time."

"No doubt he has," said Sir Peter, a little loftily. He was disgusted with

Vance.

But though Vance's conduct was disgusting, after all he had told him what he was dying to know. The antecedents of old Tyson of Thorneytoft had been wrapped in a dull mystery which nobody had ever taken the trouble to penetrate. He had been in business that much was known; and as he was highly respectable, it was concluded that his business had been highly respectable too. And then he had retired for ten years

before he came to Thorneytoft. Those ten years might be considered a season of purification before entering on his solemn career as a country gentleman. Old Tyson had cut himself adrift from his own origins. And as the years went on he wrapped himself closer in his impenetrable garment of respectability; he was only Mr Tyson, the gentle cultivator of orchids, until, gradually receding from view, he became a presence, a myth, a name. But when the amazing Mr Nevill Tyson dashed into his uncle's place, he drew all eyes on him by the very unexpectedness of his advent. And now it seemed that Tyson, the cosmopolitan adventurer, the magnificent social bandit who trampled, so to speak, on the orchids of respectability, and rode roughshod over the sleek traditions of Thorneytoft, was after all nothing better than a little City tailor's son.

Of course it didn't matter in the very least. A man's a man for all that; but when the man, in his brilliant oratorical way, has intimated that you don't ride straight, and that you funk your fences, you may be

forgiven if you smile a sly private smile at

his expense.

And Sir Peter did more than smile, he laughed.

"So that was the goose that laid the golden eggs ?" (Ha ha! Sir Peter had made a joke.)

He went home merrily at the end of the week in his new clothes with his new idea; and as he sat in the train he kept turning that little bit of gossip over and over, and tasting it. It lasted him all the way from St Pancras to Drayton Parva. did not greatly care for women's gossip; but he liked his own. And really the provocation had been intense. It was tit for tat, quid pro quo, what was sauce for the goose

Sir Peter

the goose again! Ha! ha! ha! It was a good thing for Sir Peter that Vance had given him another two inches round the waist.

Now, to do Sir Peter justice, he had meant to keep that little bit of gossip entirely to himself, for solitary gloating over and nibbling. But when an old gentleman has spent all his life uttering melancholy platitudes,

and is suddenly delivered of a joke of two jokes-it is a little hard to expect him to hide his light under a bushel. He could have buried scandal in his breast for ever, but to put an extinguisher on the sparks of his playful fancy-no, these things are beyond a man's control. And as the idea of the goose, with all its subtle humour, sank deeper and deeper into Sir Peter's mind, he was irresistibly tempted to impart it to Lady Morley (in strict confidence). Such a joke as that ought not to be kept to himself, to live and die with him; it would be hardly kind to Lady Morley. She would appreciate it.

She did appreciate it. So did Miss Batchelor, to whom she also told the story (in strict confidence). So did everybody whom Miss Batchelor may or may not have confided in. And when the thing became public property, Sir Peter wished he had restrained his sense of humour.

112

CHAPTER VIII.

TOWARDS "THE CROSS-ROADS."

It was the beginning of the hunting season, and with the hunting season Louis Stanistreet reappeared on the scene. He stayed

at Thorneytoft as usual. Tyson had just bought a new hunter, a remarkable animal. It fell away suddenly in the hind-quarters; it had a neck like a giraffe and legs like a spider; but it could jump, if not very like a horse, very like a kangaroo. This creature struck wonder and terror into the soul of the hunt. At the first meet of the season Stanistreet, the Master, and Sir Peter drew up by one accord to watch the antics of Tyson and his kangaroo.

By Jove! where does your friend pick up his hunters?" asked the Master.