"Did you allow it?"
"No! Guest is writing secrets with a loaded revolver by his side. He certainly does not want to see any of that crew."
"Oh! he is mad," she murmured. "Why should he not buy his life? What else is there that counts?"
"There are two to a bargain," I answered. "I do not think that he has value to give."
"Oh! he has," she answered, "if only he would be reasonable."
We were silent for a moment. In the distance, coming up the avenue, was the figure of a man. I watched him with curiosity. Finally I pointed him out to Lady Dennisford.
"Do you see this man coming up to the house?" I said—"a sleek, middle-aged man smoking a cigar?"
"I see him," she answered.
"What do you think he looks like?" I asked.
"A prosperous tradesman," she answered. "A friend of your bailiff's, perhaps."