his made somebody look at him. Then he began to talk, laconically at
first, and finally with great fluency. It was all about himself, and
everybody listened. He proved a good talker, as a man ought to be who has
knocked about four continents and seen strange men and stranger women.
You could tell that Miss Batchelor was interested, for she had turned
round in her chair now and was looking him straight in the face. It
seemed that he had worked his way out to Bombay and back again. He had
been reporter to half-a-dozen provincial papers. He had been tutor to
Somebody's son at some place not specified. He had tried his hand at
comic journalism in London and at cattle-driving in Texas, and had been
half-way to glory as a captain of irregulars in the Soudanese war. No,
nobody was more surprised than himself when that mystic old man left him
Thorneytoft. He thought he had chucked civilization for good. For good?
But--after his exciting life--wouldn't he find civilization a
little--dull? (Miss Batchelor had a way of pointing her sentences as if
she were speaking in parables.) Not in the country, there was hardly
enough of it there, and he had never tried being a country gentleman
before; he rather wanted to see what it was like. Wouldn't it be a little
hard, if he had never--? He thought not. The first thing he should do
would be to get some decent hunters.

Hunters were all very well, but had he no hobbies? No, he had not; the
_bona fide_ country gentleman never had hobbies. They were kept by
amateur gentlemen retired from business to the suburbs. Here Sir Peter
observed that talking of hobbies, old Mr. Tyson had a perfect--er--mania
for orchids; he spent the best part of his life in his greenhouse. Mr.
Nevill Tyson thought he would rather spend his in Calcutta at once.

A dark lean man who had arrived with Tyson was seen to smile frequently
during the above dialogue. Miss Batchelor caught him doing it and turned