to your family, Sir Geoffrey.”

“Pay your debts. There are moments, Ben, when you disappoint me. When you try to—a—down me with my own carefully digested arguments. You’re a match-makin’ old woman, you are. You’ve encouraged Prudence to become engaged to her double first cousin.”

Fishpingle smiled disarmingly.

“Double first cousins, Sir Geoffrey, if you’ll pardon me, are the children, let us say, of two brothers who happen to have married two sisters.”

The Squire fumed, tapping his gaiters with the riding switch which he carried.

“There you go again! Trying to crow over me with knowledge gleaned, b’ Jove! from me. You tell Prudence to find another young man.” He stumped to the door and opened it. “You make that perfectly plain to the little baggage. I’m counting on her for half a dozen healthy kids at the least. You hear me? That’s the irreducible minimum.”

“I’ll make a mental note of it, Sir Geoffrey.”

Sir Geoffrey relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you lose your temper, Ben.”

“Pray don’t mention it, Sir Geoffrey.”

“And if Bonsor comes bobbing round again about those damned sheep, tell him what you think—I mean what I think.”

He went out, slamming the door. Fishpingle whistled softly to himself.