Wynter and Raymond were now fast friends, caught with his charm which never failed to captivate.
“After all you have told me about Reckavile, I am going to have a look at the place,” he said one night at dinner.
Wynter’s usually jolly face became grave. “I shouldn’t if I were you,” he said “you know half the people there will take you for Reckavile, and there may be unpleasant things said.”
“What do you mean?” asked the other sharply.
“Well, you know old man, when a commoner bears a striking resemblance to a peer of the Realm, especially to one with such a reputation, unpleasant things are said, which I know you would resent. Do you get me?”
“Quite,” said Roy, swallowing his anger with difficulty, and he said no more.
When the run of the series of revivals was over, and he was free, Roy refused to re-engage, to the disappointment of the manager, and the company.
“I was hoping, Mr. Halley, to give you the leading tenor in our Number I Touring Company,” he said.
“Thank you, I am most grateful, but I am going abroad,” Halley replied.
And so he came at last to Portham, and fate drove him to the Black Horse, kept by Southgate, grizzled and seaworn, who alone knew the truth, though not the whole truth.