“I must apologize to you if I was a little brusque the other night--you will excuse an old soldier who has spent the best part of his life in harness--All the same, you must confess that you are rather dark-skinned for a Scotchman.” “We have a Spanish strain in our blood,” said I, wondering at his recurrence to the topic. “That would, of course, account for it,” he remarked. “My dear,” to his wife, “allow me to introduce Mr. Fothergill West to you. This is my son and my daughter. We have come here in search of rest, Mr. West--complete rest.” “And you could not possibly have come to a better place,” said I. “Oh, you think so?” he answered. “I suppose it is very quiet indeed, and very lonely. You might walk through these country lanes at night, I dare say, and never meet a soul, eh?” “Well, there are not many about after dark,” I said. “And you are not much troubled with vagrants or wandering beggars, eh? Not many tinkers or tramps or rascally gipsies--no vermin of that sort about?” “I find it rather cold,” said Mrs. Heatherstone, drawing her thick sealskin mantle tighter round her figure. “We are detaining Mr. West, too.” “So we are, my dear, so we are. Drive on, coachman. Good-day, Mr. West.” The carriage rattled away towards the Hall, and I trotted thoughtfully onwards to the little country metropolis. As I passed up the High Street, Mr. McNeil ran out from his office and beckoned to me to stop. “Our new tenants have gone out,” he said. “They drove over this morning.” “I met them on the way,” I answered. As I looked down at the little factor, I could see that his face was flushed and that he bore every appearance of having had an extra glass. “Give me a real gentleman to do business with,” he said, with a burst of laughter. “They understand me and I understand them. 'What shall I fill it up for?' says the general, taking a blank cheque out o' his pouch and laying it on the table. 'Two hundred,' says I, leaving a bit o' a margin for my own time and trouble.” “I thought that the landlord had paid you for that,” I