Suddenly he frowned. ‘I call it disgraceful,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Disgraceful that an able-bodied man like you should dare to beg. You can get a meal from my kitchen, but you’ll get no money from me.’
A dog-cart was passing, driven by a young man who raised his whip to salute the fisherman. When he had gone, he picked up his rod.
‘That’s my house,’ he said, pointing to a white gate a hundred yards on. ‘Wait five minutes and then go round to the back door.’ And with that he left me.
I did as I was bidden. I found a pretty cottage with a lawn running down to the stream, and a perfect jungle of guelder-rose and lilac flanking the path. The back door stood open, and a grave butler was awaiting me.
‘Come this way, Sir,’ he said, and he led me along a passage and up a back staircase
