"I amuse myself," said Jem. "There's quite a little game going on down below, which I'm mighty interested in. It's like one o' them Chinese puzzles, little pieces of wood you put together, you know. Lor', you might 'a' lived down Whitechapel in Larry's thieves' kitchen and not see more signs and mysterious nods and winks as you do down here—down here in this little village, which I thought was inhabited by perfect infants. Why, a man has to keep his eyes open every minute to catch all the signs which one simple-looking chap of a fisherman gives to another."
"What do you mean?" asked the captain, absently, and with evident inattention. "What signs should these men have? what mystery? There, I'm tired, go to bed. By the way, there's a sovereign for you."
And he threw one of the coins which he had won that evening on the table.
Jem, who was beginning to understand his master's moods, picked up the donation with a touch of the forehead, and, with a gruff, "Good-night, captain," departed, muttering to himself:
"He's working, he is; he's begun the game, or my name's not Jem. Ah! he's a deep 'un, is the captain!"
In another room of the Park Violet was inclined to be thoughtful, and for some time her maid brushed the long tresses of her mistress' bright hair with inward surprise at her silence, and at last ventured to intrude upon it by the commencement of the little gossip to which Violet was rather partial, so long as it was confined to innocent chat and did not diverge to scandal and tittle-tattle.
So Marie ventured to remark that there were a great many servants at Coombe Lodge, and that the people were very glad that the Lacklands had come down; but they seemed quite as pleased that Mr. Leicester had come, too.
Mr. Leicester's name seemed to rouse her mistress from her reverie, and she looked up, with her bright, clear gaze.
"What did you say about Mr. Leicester Dodson?"