Sir Geoffrey chuckled.
"Captain, Susan, Captain. And only yesterday, I remember, he came sneaking in here, always sure of a bull's-eye." He glanced at his watch. "Time, confound it, is always hurrying on. I'm due at the Home Farm. Before I go, one word in your faithful ear. It will travel no further for the present, hey?"
"You knows that, Sir Geoffrey."
They both stood up, a fine couple. The Squire patted Mrs. Yellam's substantial shoulder. Then he lowered his jolly voice:
"You asked about Mrs. Pomfret. After Christmas I am expecting the sort of present I want badly. You understand——?"
"Lard bless 'ee, Sir Geoffrey, and her too. Tis gert news."
"Isn't it? But mum's the word!"
He went on to the Home Farm, whither we need not follow him. But it may be added, incidentally, that the translation of Benoni Fishpingle from the position of butler at Pomfret Court to the more responsible post of Bailiff had worked greatly to the Squire's advantage and happiness. He returned home to luncheon in reasonably high spirits, having prodded the sides of many fat bullocks. He found Lady Pomfret on the terrace facing the park. From her face he divined instantly that something of importance had happened. She came up to him, with her slow, measured walk, holding out a telegram. It was from Lionel.
"Expect Joyce and me to-night. I go to France this day week."