“And of course I must sell the place.  Think what it would be to you!  I shouldn’t like it to go into his Lordship’s hands.  It’s all through Bean I know, but his Lordship has had a down on me ever since he came to the property.  It’s as true as true about my old woman’s geese.  There’s forty acres of it.  What would you say to 40 pounds an acre?”

The idea of having the two extra fields made Larry’s mouth water, in spite of all his misfortunes.  The desire for land among such as Larry Twentyman is almost a disease in England.  With these two fields he would be able to walk almost round Dillsborough Wood without quitting his own property.  He had been talking of selling Chowton within the last week or two.  He had been thinking of selling it at the moment when Mr. Masters rode up to him.  And yet now he was almost tempted to a new purchase by this man.  But the man was too utterly a blackguard,—­was too odious to him.

“If it comes into the market, I may bid for it as well as another,” he said, “but I wouldn’t let myself down to have any dealings with you.”

“Then, Mr. Larry, you shall never have a sod of it,” said Goarly, dropping himself over the fence on to his own field.

A few minutes afterwards Larry met Bean, and told him that Goarly had been in the wood.  “If I catch him, Mr. Twentyman, I’ll give him sore bones,” said Bean.  “I wonder how he ever got back to his own place alive that day.”  Then Bean asked Larry whether he meant to be at the meet to-morrow, and Larry said that he thought he should.  “Tony’s almost afraid to bring them in even yet,” said Bean; “but if there’s a herring left in this wood, I’ll eat it myself—­ strychnine and all.”

After that Larry went and looked at his horses, and absolutely gave his mare “Bicycle” a gallop round the big grass field himself.  Then those who were about the place knew that something had happened, and that he was in a way to be cured.  “You’ll hunt to-morrow, won’t you, Larry?” said his mother affectionately.

“Who told you?”

“Nobody told me;—­but you will, Larry; won’t you?”

“May be I will.”  Then, as he was leaving the room, when he was in the door-way, so that she should not see his face, he told her the news.  “She’s going to marry the squire, yonder.”

“Mary Masters!”

“I always hated him from the first moment I saw him.  What do you expect from a fellow who never gets a-top of a horse?” Then he turned away, and was not seen again till long after teatime.

CHAPTER XIX

“Is it tanti?”

Reginald Morton entertained serious thoughts of cleansing himself from the reproach which Larry cast upon him when describing his character to his mother.  “I think I shall take to hunting,” he said to Mary.

“But you’ll tumble off, dear.”

“No doubt I shall, and I must try to begin in soft places.  I don’t see why I shouldn’t do it gradually in a small way.  I shouldn’t ever become a Nimrod, like Lord Rufford or your particular friend Mr. Twentyman.”