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‘I will. Yes, I certainly will. But there’s something I should like to ask you about first, Miss Fouracres. I’m thinking of staying in this part of the country through the holidays’–long ago he had made known his position–‘and it has struck me that perhaps I could lodge here. Could you let me have a room? Just a bedroom would be enough.’

‘Why, yes, sir,’ replied the landlord’s daughter. ‘We have two bedrooms, you know, and I’ve no doubt my father would be willing to arrange with you.’

‘Ah, then I’ll mention it to him. Is he in very low spirits?’

‘He’s unusual low to-day, sir. I shouldn’t wonder if it did him good to see you, and talk a bit.’

Having finished his ginger-beer, Mr. Ruddiman walked through the house and passed out into the garden, where he at once became aware of Mr. Fouracres. The landlord, a man of sixty, with grizzled hair and large, heavy countenance, sat in a rustic chair under an apple-tree; beside him was a little table, on which stood a bottle of whisky and a glass. Approaching, Mr. Ruddiman saw reason to suspect that the landlord had partaken too freely of the refreshment ready to his hand. Mr. Fouracres’ person was in a limp state; his cheeks were very highly coloured, and his head kept nodding as he muttered to himself. At the visitor’s greeting he looked up with a sudden surprise, as though he resented an intrusion on his privacy.

‘It’s very hot, Mr. Fouracres,’ the under-master went on to remark with cordiality.

‘Hot? I dare say it is,’ replied the landlord severely. ‘And what else do you expect at this time of the year, sir?’

‘Just so, Mr. Fouracres, just so!’ said the other, as good-humouredly as possible. ‘You don’t find it unpleasant?’

‘Why should I, sir? It was a good deal hotter day than this when His Royal Highness called upon me; a good deal hotter. The Prince didn’t complain; not he. He said to me–I’m speaking of His Royal Highness, you understand; I hope you understand that, sir?’

‘Oh, perfectly!’

‘His words were–“Very seasonable weather, Mr. Fouracres.” I’m not likely to forget what he said; so it’s no use you or any one else trying to make out that he didn’t say that. I tell you he did! “Very season weather, Mr. Fouracres”–calling me by name, just like that. And it’s no good you nor anybody else–‘

The effort of repeating the Prince’s utterance with what was meant to be a princely accent proved so exhausting to Mr. Fouracres that he sank together in his chair and lost all power of coherent speech. In a moment he seemed to be sleeping. Having watched him a little while, Mr. Ruddiman spoke his name, and tried to attract his attention; finding it useless he went back into the inn.

‘I’m afraid I shall have to put it off to another day, was his remark to the landlord’s daughter. ‘Mr. Four-acres is–rather drowsy.’

‘Ah, sir!’ sighed the young woman. ‘I’m sorry to say he’s often been like that lately.’

Their eyes met, but only for an instant. Mr. Ruddiman looked and felt uncomfortable.

‘I’ll come again very soon, Miss Fouracres,’ he said. ‘You might just speak to your father about the room.’

‘Thank you, sir. I will, sir.’

And, with another uneasy glance, which was not returned, the under-master went his way. Descending towards Longmeadows, he thought over the innkeeper’s story, which may be briefly related. Some ten years before this Mr. Fouracres occupied a very comfortable position; he was landlord of a flourishing inn–called an hotel–in a little town of some importance as an agricultural centre, and seemed perfectly content with the life and the society natural to a man so circumstanced. His manners were marked by a certain touch of pompousness, and he liked to dwell upon the excellence of the entertainment which his house afforded, but these were innocent characteristics which did not interfere with his reputation as a sensible and sound man of business. It happened one day that two gentlemen on horseback, evidently riding for their pleasure, stopped at the inn door, and, after a few inquiries, announced that they would alight and have lunch. Mr. Fouracres–who himself received these gentlemen–regarded one of them with much curiosity, and presently came to the startling conclusion that he was about to entertain no less a person than the Heir Apparent. He knew that the Prince was then staying at a great house some ten miles away, and there could be no doubt that one of his guests had a strong resemblance to the familiar portraits of His Royal Highness. In his excitement at the supposed discovery, Mr. Fouracres at once communicated it to those about him, and in a very few minutes half the town had heard the news. Of course the host would allow no one but himself to wait at the royal table–which was spread in the inn’s best room, guarded against all intrusion. In vain, however, did he listen for a word from either of the gentlemen which might confirm his belief; in their conversation no name or title was used, and no mention made of anything significant. They remained for an hour. When their horses were brought round for them a considerable crowd had gathered before the hotel, and the visitors departed amid a demonstration of exuberant loyalty. On the following day, one or two persons who had been present at this scene declared that the two gentlemen showed surprise, and that, though both raised their hats in acknowledgment of the attention they received, they rode away laughing.