“The lust of your excellent young men, such as this worthy Bob Weevil.”

“Ah!” thought Wolf in his heart. “Now it’s coming!”

“I never myself talk of lechery to anyone,” went on the poet; “but this Squire of yours enjoys his little jest, whether it’s with a young man or a boy. I expect he’s a bit afraid of you, Solent.”

“I should have supposed,” said Wolf, “that Mr. Urquhart was too snobbish to treat a Blacksod tradesman like an equal, whatever his age was!”

“There is only one class,” said the poet, with an air of benign authority, “where these matters are concerned.”

“So you think Mr. Urquhart has been at work encouraging our friend Weevil in some pretty little bit of mischief, eh?” said Wolf.