“Topping little place!  Absolutely!” was the verdict he pronounced on the exterior of the cottage as he followed George in.  “I’ve often thought it would be a rather sound scheme to settle down in this sort of shanty and keep chickens and grow a honey coloured beard, and have soup and jelly brought to you by the vicar’s wife and so forth.  Nothing to worry you then.  Do you live all alone here?”

George was busy squirting seltzer into his guest’s glass.

“Yes.  Mrs. Platt comes in and cooks for me.  The farmer’s wife next door.”

An exclamation from the other caused him to look up.  Reggie Byng was staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Great Scott!  Mrs. Platt!  Then you’re the Chappie?”

George found himself unequal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation.

“The Chappie?”

“The Chappie there’s all the row about.  The mater was telling me only this morning that you lived here.”

“Is there a row about me?”

“Is there what!” Reggie’s manner became solicitous.  “I say, my dear old sportsman, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad tidings and what not, if you know what I mean, but didn’t you know there was a certain amount of angry passion rising and so forth because of you?  At the castle, I mean.  I don’t want to seem to be discussing your private affairs, and all that sort of thing, but what I mean is...  Well, you don’t expect you can come charging in the way you have without touching the family on the raw a bit.  The daughter of the house falls in love with you; the son of the house languishes in chokey because he has a row with you in Piccadilly; and on top of all that you come here and camp out at the castle gates!  Naturally the family are a bit peeved.  Only natural, eh?  I mean to say, what?”

George listened to this address in bewilderment.  Maud in love with him!  It sounded incredible.  That he should love her after their one meeting was a different thing altogether.  That was perfectly natural and in order.  But that he should have had the incredible luck to win her affection.  The thing struck him as grotesque and ridiculous.

“In love with me?” he cried.  “What on earth do you mean?”

Reggie’s bewilderment equalled his own.

“Well, dash it all, old top, it surely isn’t news to you?  She must have told you.  Why, she told me!”

“Told you?  Am I going mad?”

“Absolutely!  I mean absolutely not!  Look here.”  Reggie hesitated.  The subject was delicate.  But, once started, it might as well be proceeded with to some conclusion.  A fellow couldn’t go on talking about his iron-shots after this just as if nothing had happened.  This was the time for the laying down of cards, the opening of hearts.  “I say, you know,” he went on, feeling his way, “you’ll probably think it deuced rummy of me talking like this.  Perfect stranger and what not.  Don’t even know each other’s names.”