‘Why, I met a man from Manchester at the Five Towns Hotel last night,’ said Twemlow, ’who comes down to Knype once a week to give lessons.  He used to sing in opera.  They say he’s the best man about, and that he’s taught a lot of good people.  I forget his name.’

‘I expect you mean Cecil Corfe,’ Leonora said cheerfully.  She had been amazed at the compliance of John’s attitude.

‘Yes, that’s it.’

At the same moment there was a faint noise at the French window.  John went to investigate.  As soon as his back was turned, Twemlow glanced at Leonora with eyes full of a private amusement which he invited her to share.  ‘Can’t I just handle him?’ he seemed to say.  She smiled, but cautiously, less she should disclose too fully her intense appreciation of his personality.

‘Why, it’s the dog!’ Stanway proclaimed, ’and wet through!  What’s he doing loose?  It’s raining like the devil.’

‘I’m afraid I didn’t fasten him up this afternoon.  I forgot,’ said Leonora.  ‘Oh! my new rug!’

Bran plunged into the room with a glad deafening bark, his tail thwacking the furniture like the flat of a sword.

‘Get out, you great brute!’ Stanway ordered, and then, on the step, he shouted into the darkness for Carpenter.

Twemlow rose to look on.

‘I can’t let you walk to the station to-night, Twemlow,’ said Stanway, still outside the room.  ’Carpenter shall drive you.  Yes, he shall, so don’t argue.  And while he’s about it he may as well take you straight to Knype.  You can go in the buggy—­there’s a hood to it.’

When the time came for departure, John insisted on lending to Twemlow a large driving overcoat.  They stood in the hall together, while Twemlow fumbled with the complicated apparatus of buttons.  Stanway whistled.

‘By the way,’ he said, ’when are you coming in to look through those old accounts?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Twemlow answered, somewhat taken by surprise.

‘I tell you what I’ll do—­I’ll send you copies of them, eh?’

‘I think you needn’t trouble,’ said Twemlow, carelessly.  ’I guess I shall write to my sister, and tell her I can’t see any use in trying to worry out the old man’s finances at this time of day.’

‘However,’ Stan way repeated, ’I’ll send you the copies all the same.  And when you write to your sister, will you give her my kindest regards?’

The whole family, except Rose, came into the porch to bid him good-night.  In the darkness and the heavy rain could dimly be seen the rounded form of the buggy; the cob’s flanks shone in the glittering ray of the lamps; Carpenter was hidden under the hood; his mysterious hand raised the apron, and Twemlow stepped quickly in.

‘Good-night,’ said Ethel.

‘Good-night, Mr. Twemlow,’ said Milly.  ‘Be good.’

‘You’ll see us again before you leave, Twemlow?’ said John’s imperious voice.

‘You aren’t going back to America just yet, are you?’ Leonora asked, from the back.