well-bred detachment which precludes such happenings; and he rose from dinner with his mind made up.  Instead of going back to the House of Commons, he went straight to a strike-breaking agency.  No grass should grow under the feet of his decision!  Thence he sought the one post-office still open, despatched a long telegram to his agent, another to the chief constable of Worcestershire; and, feeling he had done all he could for the moment, returned to the ‘House,’ where they were debating the rural housing question.  He sat there, paying only moderate attention to a subject on which he was acknowledged an authority.  To-morrow, in all probability, the papers would have got hold of the affair!  How he loathed people poking their noses into his concerns!  And suddenly he was assailed, very deep down, by a feeling with which in his firmness he had not reckoned—­a sort of remorse that he was going to let a lot of loafing blackguards down onto his land, to toss about his grass, and swill their beastly beer above it.  And all the real love he had for his fields and coverts, all the fastidiousness of an English gentleman, and, to do him justice, the qualms of a conscience telling him that he owed better things than this to those born on his estate, assaulted him in force.  He sat back in his seat, driving his long legs hard against the pew in front.  His thick, wavy, still brown hair was beautifully parted above the square brow that frowned over deep-set eyes and a perfectly straight nose.  Now and again he bit into a side of his straw-colored moustache, or raised a hand and twisted the other side.  Without doubt one of the handsomest and perhaps the most Norman-looking man in the whole ‘House.’  There was a feeling among those round him that he was thinking deeply.  And so he was.  But he had decided, and he was not a man who went back on his decisions.

Morning brought even worse sensations.  Those ruffians that he had ordered down—­the farmers would never consent to put them up!  They would have to camp.  Camp on his land!  It was then that for two seconds the thought flashed through him:  Ought I to have considered whether I could agree to that demand?  Gone in another flash.  If there was one thing a man could not tolerate, it was dictation!  Out of the question!  But perhaps he had been a little hasty about strike-breakers.  Was there not still time to save the situation from that, if he caught the first train?  The personal touch was everything.  If he put it to the men on the spot, with these strike-breakers up his sleeve, surely they must listen!  After all, they were his own people.  And suddenly he was overcome with amazement that they should have taken such a step.  What had got into them?  Spiritless enough, as a rule, in all conscience; the sort of fellows who hadn’t steam even to join the miniature rifle-range that he had given them!  And visions of them, as he was accustomed to pass them in the lanes, slouching along with their straw bags, their