the tankard, bottom up, on the table, inviting Prudence to inspect its immaculate surface. She bent down, staring at it. Alfred kissed the nape of her neck. As he did so, he sprang sharply to attention, and so did the maid. She moved swiftly and silently to the fireplace.

Sir Geoffrey Pomfret entered.

He belonged to a type of country gentleman now almost extinct. His round, rosy, clean-shaven face suggested John Bull. To accentuate this resemblance he wore breeches and gaiters, very well cut, a rough shooting-coat, a canary waistcoat and a bright bird’s-eye blue cravat. Every movement and word proclaimed the autocrat. He advanced a couple of steps, glanced about him with a genial smile, and addressed the obsequious Alfred.

“Where’s Mr. Fishpingle?”

“In stable-yard, I think, Sir Geoffrey.”

The Squire crossed to the chimney-piece, eyeing Prudence with much approval. He said pleasantly:

“Don’t let me disturb you, my dear. Bless me! Your skirts have come down and your hair’s gone up.”

Prudence curtsied.

“If you please, Sir Geoffrey.”

“Well, well, the flight of Time does not please me. How’s your good mother, Prudence?”

“Very nicely, Sir Geoffrey.”

The Squire nodded his massive head.

“Healthy family, you Rockleys. Most of my people, thank the Lord! are healthy.” Alfred grinned acquiescence. “What the doose are you grinnin’ at?”

“I beg pardon, Sir Geoffrey.”

“I like grins. A good grin is worth money to any young man. Speak up, sir! Always share a joke with a friend. I hope, b’ Jove! you regard me as a friend?”

Man and maid answered simultaneously:

“Oh, yes, Sir Geoffrey.”

“Certainly, Sir Geoffrey.”

The Squire squared his broad shoulders and laughed.

“Then out with it, Alfred.”

Alfred, thus encouraged, and sensible that he was appearing to advantage in the eyes of Prudence, said boldly:

“I was remembering, Sir Geoffrey, what you was sayin’ las’ night about they eugannicks.”

The Squire laughed again.

“Took it all in, did you?” Alfred bobbed. “Capital! If I had my way, eugenics should be taught in every school in the kingdom.” He spoke to Alfred, but he looked kindly at Prudence.

“If you please, sir——”

“Yes, my pretty maid?”

“What are—eugannicks?”

Sir Geoffrey hesitated and coughed, but he was not the man to crane long at an awkward fence.

“Well, well, how can I put it plainly to an intelligent child?”

“I be nineteen, Sir Geoffrey, come Michael-mas.”

“And my god-daughter, b’ Jove!”

“Yes, Sir Geoffrey.”

She curtsied again. The question had been asked and answered many times. The Squire was now at his best—“in touch,” as he put it, with his own people. He stroked an ample chin.

“I have sixteen god-daughters in Nether Applewhite, and the welfare of all of ’em is near and dear to my heart. Nineteen, are yer?” He surveyed her critically. “And one of ten, too?” She smiled. “All alive and doin’ well?” Prudence nodded; the Squire rubbed his hands together. “Capital! The crop that never fails. How many in your family, Alfred?”

“Seven, Sir Geoffrey. No—eight.”

Alfred grinned deprecatingly.

Instantly the Squire’s voice grew testy.

“What d’ye mean, sir, by your ‘seven, no eight’?”

“I forgot my twin brother, Sir Geoffrey, him as died afore I was christened. I was only a lil’ baby at the time.”

“Yes, yes, I remember. Sad affair. Diphtheria. Cost me a pretty penny. Drains—damn ’em.”

For a moment silence imposed itself, broken by the soft, coaxing voice of Prudence.

“And—eugannicks, Sir Geoffrey?”

The Squire pulled himself together, inflating his chest, astride a favourite hobby. He began glibly enough:

“Drains, my girl, are a vital part of eugenics, but it begins—it begins——Um! It’s not easy to make myself perfectly plain to a young girl.”

Alfred grinned again, Prudence said reflectively:

“That’s what Alferd said, Sir Geoffrey.”

Alfred’s grin vanished as the Squire’s keen eyes rested upon him.

“Bless my soul? Have you been discussing eugenics with my god-daughter?”

Alfred moved uneasily.

“She did ask for information, Sir Geoffrey; and I made so bold as to refer her to Mr. Fishpingle.”

The Squire’s face indicated relief.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Fishpingle will explain. Dear me! Is that the William and Mary tankard?”

“Yes, Sir Geoffrey.”

“What the doose is it doin’ there—upside down?”

“Mr. Fishpingle’ll explain that, Sir Geoffrey. His very particular orders. I—I think I hear him coming, Sir Geoffrey.”

Prudence began dusting again as Fishpingle came into the room. He was a slightly older man than the squire and bore his years less lightly. He was something of the Squire’s build, a fine figure of a man—so the women said—and he bore upon a thinner, more refined face, the same look of authority. As soon as he saw his master he smiled delightfully. Sir Geoffrey growled out:

“You ought to be a policeman, Ben.”

“A policeman, Sir Geoffrey?”

“You’re never about when you’re most particularly wanted. Have you looked at the mare?”

Fishpingle answered easily with the respectful assurance of an old servant who had gone rabbiting with his master when they were boys together.

“You won’t ride her again this season, Sir Geoffrey. She never was quite up to your weight, and this spring hunting on hard ground is cruel work on the hocks. She’ll have to be fired, the pretty dear.”

“Turn her out into the water-meadows.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And now, pray tell me, what is the meaning of—that?”

He indicated the tankard. Fishpingle smiled.

“A small matter of discipline, Sir Geoffrey, which concerns Alfred and myself.”

“But why, man, is it placed upside down?”

“Merely as an object lesson, to test a young man’s powers of observation.”

As he spoke, with a certain quaint deliberation, he glanced affectionately at the fine piece of silver. Then, in a sharper tone, he spoke to Alfred:

“Take it away, my lad, and clean it properly.”

Alfred picked up the tankard, somewhat sullenly. His face brightened as the Squire exclaimed irritably:

“But, damn it, Ben, the tankard is clean. Here—give it me.”

Alfred handed over the tankard, which the Squire examined carefully.

“Nothing wrong that I can see.”

Alfred betrayed a momentary triumph. Fishpingle said quietly:

“Please inspect the bottom of it, Sir Geoffrey.”