“You are very jumpy and cross this morning,” she said, and to her surprise he admitted that fault, though she had seen nothing in his manner to deserve the challenge she had made.

“I am very annoyed indeed. If there is one thing I don’t want to see, it is our good farms turned into little residential estates for the City gentry! I sold Red Farm to Mr Leonard last week, under the impression that the old” – he checked a naughty word – “gentleman wanted to extend his holding, though why on earth he should want to buy Red Farm, which is the poorest land around here, I couldn’t guess.”

“And what has he done?”

Dick was indeed very much annoyed, she noticed now, and was secretly amused. She had a woman’s satisfaction in seeing the man she liked thrown momentarily off his balance and revealing himself in a light that was new to her.

“And what has the old – gentleman done?” she mocked him.

“He has resold the farm to a wretched man in London – though the purchaser is not aware that such a sale is invalid without my signature.”

“A stranger?” she asked.

“Yes; though he has been living in the neighbourhood all summer. He has a cottage somewhere about here.”

“On the Ravensrill?” she asked, in surprise.

“That is the fellow,” he nodded. “I’ve never seen him, but I understood he was only staying here for a few months. And now I find that the beggar’s bought Red Farm and intends putting up something in stucco with bow windows! And I daresay he will dig an artificial pond, start a rosery, and turn God’s productive acres into a forcing house for sickly flowers!”

“Why shouldn’t he?” she asked coolly, and he stared at her. “After all, you said this was the poorest land round here, and if it cannot be useful it may as well be beautiful. I rather like artificial ponds and roseries.”

In spite of his annoyance he laughed.

“Then probably you’ll go to Mr Gilder’s house-warming,” he said.

She started.

“Who?” she asked.

“Mr Gilder. He’s something in the City – probably a deuce of a swell in his own way, but I wish he’d gone somewhere else. And as to Leonard, I’ve already told him that I shall not go to his funeral.”

“Dick, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she said indignantly. “Poor old man!” Then, in a different voice: “You don’t know his Christian name?”

“Whose – Leonard’s?”

“Don’t be stupid – Mr Gilder’s.”

Dick frowned.

“Fabrian,” he said at last. “What a name! It sounds like a secret society!”

She wondered if Arthur knew of this enterprise of his clerk: it was hardly likely that Mr Gilder would buy property in the neighbourhood without consulting his chief. For the moment she deemed it prudent to turn the subject.