kind. Ah, well, in any case, sir, this here is a very unfortunate affair.
I'm a deal upset by it--I am indeed!"

Copplestone rang the bell, gave orders for Mr. Chatfield's suitable
entertainment with gin and cigars, and making an end of his dinner, drew
up a chair to the fire opposite his visitor.

"You are upset, Mr. Chatfield?" he remarked. "Now, why?"

Chatfield sipped his gin and water, and flourished a cigar with a
comprehensive wave of his big fat hand.

"Oh, in general, sir!" he said. "Things like this here are not pleasant
to have in a quiet, respectable community like ours. There's very wicked
people in this world, mister, and they will not control what's termed the
unruly member. They will talk. You'll excuse me, but I doubt not that I'm
a good deal more than twice your age, and I've learnt experience. My
experience, sir, is that a wise man holds his tongue until he's called
upon to use it. Now, in my opinion, it was a very unwise thing of yon
there sea-going man, Ewbank, to say that this unfortunate play-actor told
him that he'd met our Squire in America--very unfortunate!"

Copplestone pricked his ears. Had the estate agent come there to tell him
that? And if so, why?

"Oh!" he said. "You've heard that, have you? Now who told you that, Mr.
Chatfield? For I don't think that's generally known."

"If you knew this here village, mister, as well as what I do," replied
Chatfield coolly, "you'd know that there is known all over the place by