So Segrave in Leicestershire (which town I am now bound to remember) is situated in a champaign, at the edge of the wolds, and more barren than the villages about it, yet no place likely yields a better air.

"My last sovereign, par Dieu!" swore Lord Walterton, throwing the money across to Segrave with an unsteady hand.

He also had certainly seen young Segrave before this, whose father had been a member of the Long Parliament; the only face that was totally strange to him was that of the youngster in the dark suit of grogram, who stood somewhat aloof from the irate crowd, and seemed to be viewing the scene with astonishment rather than with alarm.

And see," he continued, as Segrave without comment added five more golden guineas to Lambert's little hoard, "see how wise it was to stake a goodly sum ...