Lucy as “an old dear,” though very “frowsty” in her ideas.  He was strongly of opinion that Marsham should find an heiress as soon as possible, for there was no saying how “long the old lady would see him out of his money,” and everybody knew that at present “she kept him beastly short.”  “As for me,” the speaker wound up, with an engaging and pensive naivete, “I’ve talked to him till I’m tired.”

At last he was headed away from Tallyn and its owners, only to fall into a rapturous debate with Fanny over a racing bet which seemed to have been offered and taken on the journey which first made them acquainted.  Fanny had lost, but the young man gallantly excused her.

“No—­no, couldn’t think of it!  Not till next time.  Then—­my word!—­I’ll come down upon you—­won’t I?  Teach you to know your way about—­eh?”

Loud laughter from Fanny, who professed to know her way about already.  They exchanged “tips”—­until at last Mr. Birch, lost in admiration of his companion, pronounced her a “ripper”—­he had never yet met a lady so well up—­“why, you know as much as a man!”

Dr. Roughsedge meanwhile observed the type.  The father, an old-fashioned steady-going solicitor, had sent the son to expensive schools, and allowed him two years at Oxford, until the College had politely requested the youth’s withdrawal.  The business was long established, and had been sound.  This young man had now been a partner in it for two years, and the same period had seen the rise to eminence of another and hitherto obscure firm in the county town.  Mr. Fred Birch spoke contemptuously of the rival firm as “smugs”; but the district was beginning to intrust its wills and mortgages to the “smugs” with a sad and increasing alacrity.

There were, indeed, some secret discomforts in the young man’s soul; and while he sported with Fanny he did not forget business.  The tenant of Beechcote was, ipso facto, of some social importance, and Diana was reported to be rich; the Roughsedges also, though negligible financially, were not without influence in high places; and the doctor was governor of an important grammar-school recently revived and reorganized, wherewith the Birches would have been glad to be officially connected.  He therefore made himself agreeable.

“You read, sir, a great deal?” he said to the doctor, with a professional change of voice.

The doctor, who, like most great men, was a trifle greedy, was silently enjoying a dish of oysters delicately rolled in bacon.  He looked up at his questioner.

“A great deal, Mr. Birch.”

“Everything, in fact?”

“Everything—­except, of course, what is indispensable.”

Mr. Birch looked puzzled.

“I heard of you from the Duchess, doctor.  She says you are one of the most learned men in England.”

“The Duchess?” The doctor screwed up his eyes and looked round the table.

Mr. Birch, with complacency, named the wife of a neighboring potentate who owned half the county.