“What’s this news I hear,” he said, “about Albert Smith? The old chap’s kicked the bucket, eh? Lovelace was over here this morning, and he tells me the fellow died last night and left nothing but debts. A bad lookout for those two girls, what? Lovelace even hints at suicide.”

The Squire paused, and a very curious expression came into his face.

“They talked of suicide when Redfern died,” he went on. “I’d like to know what you think, Solent, about this business of shuffling off without a word to anyone? D’ye think it’s easy for ’em? D’ye think they do it with their brains cool and clear? D’ye think they have some pretty awful moments or not, ha? Come, tell me, tell me! I hate not to know these things. Do they go through the devil of a time before they bring themselves to it, eh? Or do they sneak off like constipated beagles, to eat the long ditch-grass and ha’ done with it?”