“Heron Hall used to be a fine place at one time, sir.  I can remember my father describing what it was in his and his father’s days; how there used to be scores of servants, and as many as fifty horses in the stables; with the great place filled with guests summer and winter, spring and autumn.  The Squire Heron of that time never rode behind less than four horses, and once, when he was high sheriff, he rode to meet the judges with six.  It was open house to every poor man in the place, and no wanderer was ever turned from the door.  The squire of my father’s time was the county member, and the day he was elected there were two hogsheads of port and two of brandy broached on the lawn in front of the terrace; and for a week afterwards there was scarcely a sober man in the town for miles round.  He was master of the hounds, and the hunt breakfasts and the hunt balls were more splendid than anything else of that kind in the kingdom; in fact, people used to come from all parts of the kingdom to attend them.  Yes, the Herons made Herondale famous, as you may say, sir.”

He paused and shook his head, and Stafford remained silent:  he was too wise to break in upon the narrative.  The landlord sighed and looked lovingly at his cigar, then went on: 

“They offered that squire—­Miss Ida’s grandfather—­a peerage; the Herons had often been offered a baronetcy; but they’d always refused, and the squire declined the peerage.  He said that no man could wish to be higher than Heron, of Herondale; that better men than he had been contented with it, and he was quite satisfied with the rank which had satisfied his forefathers.  When he died, the followers at the funeral made a procession a mile and a quarter long.”

“How did the family lose its money, drop its greatness?” Stafford asked.

The landlord screwed up his eyes thoughtfully.

“Well, it’s hard to tell, sir,” he replied.  “Of course there was always a tremendous drain going on; for it was not only down here that the squire spent the money freely; but it was just the same or worse when he was in London; he had a big house there, and entertained as splendidly, perhaps more so, than he did at the Hall.  In those days, too, sir, there was as much gaming and betting as there is now, perhaps more—­though I’m told that great folks are more given nowadays to gambling on the Stock Exchange than at cards or race-horses; begging your pardon, sir!”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” assented Stafford, with his short laugh.  “I prefer the old way myself.”

“Just so, sir,” said the landlord, with an approving nod.  “Well, what with the money going here and there and everywhere, they found when the present squire’s father died that there was very little left; and worse than all, that some of the land was sold, and what remained was heavily mortgaged.  It’s what often happens to old families, sir, more’s the pity!”

“Yes,” said Stafford.  “And is the present squire like his father?”