One day riding on the downs, Mike inquired the way to Henfield of a young man who passed him riding a bay horse.  The question was answered curtly—­so curtly that Mike thought the stranger could not be led into conversation.  In this he was mistaken, and at the end of half a mile felt he had succeeded in interesting his companion.  As they descended into the weald, Mike told him he was stopping at Thornby Place, and the young squire told him he was Mr. Dallas.  When about to part, Mike asked to be directed to the nearest inn, complaining that he was dying of thirst, for he wished to give Mr. Dallas an excuse for asking him to his house.  Mr. Dallas availed himself of the excuse; and Mike prayed that he might find the ladies at home.  They were in the drawing-room.  The piano was played, and amid tea and muffins, tennis was discussed, allusions were made to man’s inconstancy.

Mike left no uncertainty regarding his various qualities.  He liked hunting as much as shooting, and having regard for the season of the year, he laid special stress upon his love for, and his prowess in, the game of tennis.  A week later he received an invitation to tennis.  Henceforth he rode over frequently to Holly Park.  He was sometimes asked to stay the night, and an impression was gaining ground there that life was pleasanter with him than without him.

When he was not there the squire missed the morning ride and the game of billiards in the evening, and the companion to whom he could speak of his sheep and his lambs.  Mike listened to the little troubles of each sister in the back garden, never failing to evince the profoundest sympathy.  He was surprised to find that he enjoyed these conversations just as much as a metaphysical disquisition with John Norton.  “I am not pretending,” he often said to himself; “it is quite true;” and then he added philosophically, “Were I not interested in them I should not succeed in interesting them.”

The brother, the sisters, the servants, even the lap-dog shared in the pleasure.  The maid-servants liked to meet his tall figure in the passages; the young ladies loved to look into his tender eyes when they came in from their walk and found him in the drawing-room.

To touch Mike’s skin was to touch his soul, and even the Yorkshire terrier was sensible of its gentleness, and soon preferred of all places to doze under his hand.  Mike came into Dallas’ room in the morning when he was taking his bath; he hung around the young ladies’ rooms, speaking through the half-open doors; then when the doors were open, the young ladies fled and wrapped themselves in dressing-gowns.  He felt his power; and by insidious intimations, by looks, words, projects for pleasure, presents, practical jokes, books, and talks about books, he proceeded joyously in his corruption of the entire household.

Naturally Mike rode his host’s horses, and he borrowed his spurs, breeches, boots, and hunting-whip.  And when he began to realize what an excellent pretext hunting is for making friends, and staying in country houses, he bought a couple of horses, which he kept at Holly Park free of cost.  He had long since put aside his poem and his trilogy, and now thought of nothing but shooting and riding.  He could throw his energies into anything, from writing a poem to playing chuck-farthing.