Heyton slept badly that night and came down to breakfast after Lord

Sutcombe and Miriam had finished theirs and gone out. He was in a bad

temper, cursed the footman who waited on him, and when he had drunk a

cup of coffee and made pretence of eating a piece of toast, mixed

himself a glass of soda and whisky and went out.

He wandered about the park, and did not come in to lunch, but when he

appeared at dinner, he was more than usually cheerful and talked to

Miriam and his father in the aimless and futile way with which a man

talks when he is engaged in the unaccustomed task of making himself

agreeable. Both Miriam and his father noticed that he was more sparing

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of the wine than usual, and Lord Sutcombe, who thought that Miriam had

given Percy a hint, glanced at her gratefully.

"Where have you been all day, Percy?" asked Miriam, masking her

indifference with a show of curiosity.

"Oh, I've been mouching about," he said. "Looking round the estate

generally." He fingered his glass and glanced across at the Marquess.

"They seem to look after the preserves pretty well," he said; "but I

noticed that there was a gipsy encampment down by the pool. Unpleasant

sort of characters to have about you. I should clear them away, father."

"I know the gipsy encampment you mean," said the Marquess; "but they are

pitched on that piece of common land; it is just outside the estate, and

we have no power to remove them. Besides," he added, "I've a kind of

liking for them; they do no harm; and they are, well, picturesque, don't

you think, Miriam?"

"That's all very well," said Heyton, with a forced laugh; "but I don't

know about their doing no harm. They're most of them thieves, I should

say."

"We can spare a fowl or two," said the Marquess, with a smile. "And a

broken hedge is soon mended."

"Oh, if it were only the fowls," said Heyton. "But I daresay some of

them would fly higher than hen-roosts. For instance, nothing would be

easier than to break into the house here; and there's plenty to tempt

them--plenty of silver, I mean," he added, hastily and with a furtive

glance at the Marquess.

"I don't think gipsies commit burglaries," said the Marquess, in his

precise way. "They would find some difficulty in getting away with their

booty. It would be easy to trace them."




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