“Hope the will was all right?”

“Quite all right, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Then you’ll leave, no doubt, and what will Missis Northover do then?”

Legg smiled.

“It’s hid in the future, sir,” he answered.

A comedian, who was going to perform at the smoking concert, came in with Mr. Gurd, and the innkeeper introduced him to Neddy and Raymond.  He joined them and added an element of great hilarity to the meal.  He abounded in good stories, and understood horse-racing as well as Neddy Motyer himself.  Neddy now called himself a ‘gentleman backer,’ but admitted that, so far, it had not proved a lucrative profession.

Their talk ranged over sport and athletics.  They buzzed one against the other, and not even the humour of the comic man was proof against the seriousness of Arthur Waldron, who demonstrated, as always, that England’s greatness had sprung from the pursuit of masculine pastimes.  The breed of horses and the breed of men alike depended upon sport.  The Empire, in Mr. Waldron’s judgment, had arisen from this sublime foundation.

“It reaches from the highest to the lowest,” he declared.  “The puppy that plays most is the one that always turns into the best dog.”

The smoking concert, held in Mr. Gurd’s large dining-room, went the way of such things with complete success.  The boxing was of the best, and the local lad, Tim Chick, performed with credit against his experienced antagonist.  All the comic man’s songs aimed at the folly of marriage and the horrors of domesticity.  He seemed to be singing at Raymond, who roared with the rest and hated the humourist all the time.  The young man grew uneasy and morose before the finish, drank too much whiskey, and felt glad to get into the cold night air when all was over.

And then there happened to him a challenge very unexpected, for Waldron, as they walked back together through the night-hidden lanes, chose the opportunity to speak of Raymond’s private affairs.

“You can’t accuse me of wanting to stick my nose into other people’s business, can you, Ray?  And you can’t fairly say that you’ve ever found me taking too much upon myself or anything of that sort.”

“No; you’re unique in that respect.”

“Well, then, you mustn’t be savage if I’m personal.  You know me jolly well and you know that you’re about the closest friend I’ve got.  And if you weren’t a friend and a great deal to me, I shouldn’t speak.”

“Go ahead—­I can guess.  There’s only one topic in Bridetown, apparently.  No doubt you’ve seen me in the company of Sabina Dinnett?”

“I haven’t, I can honestly say.  But Estelle is very keen about the mill girls.  She wants to do all sorts of fine things for them; and she’s specially friendly with Missis Dinnett’s daughter.  And she’s heard things that puzzled her young ears naturally, and she told me that some people say you’re being too kind to Sabina and other people say you’re treating her hardly.  Of course, that puzzled Estelle, clever though she is; but, as a man of the world, I saw what it meant and that kindness may really be cruelty in the long run.  You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”