The reduced squire was Mr. Humphrey Armitage, of Brackley Hall.  For my own part, the demeanour of this gentleman had seemed perfectly adapted to the occasion; we were strangers plunging through his preserves, and his tone to us had nothing improper; it was we who owed an apology.  In point of breeding, I felt sure that Ireton could not compare with Mr. Armitage for a moment, and it seemed to me vastly improbable that the invader of Brackley Hall would meet with the kind of reception he anticipated.

I saw Ireton when he set out to pay his call.  His Gladstone-bags had provided him with the costume of Piccadilly; from shining hat to patent-leather shoes, he was immaculate.  Seeing that he had to walk more than a mile, that the month was September, and that he could not pretend to have come straight from town, this apparel struck me as not a little inappropriate; I could only suppose that the man had no social tact.

At seven in the evening he again sought me.  His urban glories were exchanged for the ordinary attire, but I at once read in his face that he had suffered no humiliation.

‘Come and dine with me at the inn,’ he exclaimed cordially; ’if one may use such a word as dine under the circumstances.’

‘With pleasure.’

‘To-morrow I dine with the Armitages.’

He regarded me with an air of infinite satisfaction.  Surprised, I held my peace.  ’It was as I foresaw.  The old fellow welcomed me with open arms.  His daughters gave me tea.  I had really a very pleasant time.’

I mused and wondered.

‘You didn’t expect it; I can see that.’

‘You told me that Mr. Armitage would recognise your name,’ I answered evasively.

’Precisely.  Not long ago I gave him, through an agent, a very handsome price for some pictures he had to sell.’

Again he looked at me, watching the effect of his words.

‘Of course,’ he continued, ’there were ample apologies for his treatment of us yesterday.  By the bye, I take it for granted you don’t carry a dress-suit in your bag?’

‘Heaven forbid!’

’To be sure—­pray don’t misunderstand me.  I meant that you had expressly told me of your avoidance of all such formalities.  Therefore you will be glad that I excused you from dining at the Hall.’

For a moment I felt uncomfortable, but after all I was glad not to have the trouble of refusing on my own account.

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘you did the right thing.’

We walked over to the inn, and sat down at a rude but not unsatisfying table.  After dinner, Ireton proposed that we should smoke in the garden.  ‘It’s quiet, and we can talk.’  The sun had just set; the sky was magnificent with afterglow.  Ireton’s hint about privacy led me to hope that he was going to talk more confidentially than hitherto, and I soon found that I was not mistaken.

‘Do you know,’ he began, calling me by my name, ’I fancy you have been criticising me—­yes, I know you have.  You think I made an ass of myself about that affair in the wood.  Well, I have no doubt I did.  Now that it has turned out pleasantly, I can see and admit that there was nothing to make a fuss about.’