The two old Hammer-men chatted over days in India. Then the Colonel went on up the hill, the eyes of the child still haunting him.
The Manor-house party were having tea on the lawn, under the laburnum, looking over the sunk fence on to Saffrons Croft beyond, when the Colonel joined them. Mrs. Lewknor was already there; and young Stanley Bessemere, the Conservative candidate for Beachbourne East. He and Bess were watching a little group of people gathered about a man who was standing on a bench in Saffrons Croft haranguing.
"Lend me your bird-glasses, Miss Trupp," said her companion eagerly.
He stood up, a fine figure of a man, perfectly tailored,
"Yes," he said. "I thought so. It's my friend."
"Who's that?" asked the Colonel.
"Our bright particular local star of Socialism," the other answered. "The very latest thing from Ruskin College. I thought he confined himself to the East-end, but I'm glad to find he gives you Old Towners a turn now and then, Miss Trupp. And I hope he won't forget you up at Meads, Colonel."
"What's his name?" asked Bess, amused.
"Burt," replied the other. "He comes from the North—and he's welcome to go back there to-morrow so far as I'm concerned."
"You're from the North yourself, Mr. Bessemere," Mrs. Trupp reminded him.