He had a standing invitation to the pleasant little house, where he was always received with simple, cordial hospitality.

About eleven o'clock, after a ramble about Ashtead Common, he pushed open the garden wicket, and knocked at the door under the leafy porch.

So quiet was the house, that he half feared he would find nobody at home; but the servant at once led him in, and announced him at the door of her master's sanctum.
"Warburton ?" cried a high, hearty voice, before he had entered.

"Good fellow.

Every day this week I've been wanting to ask you to come; but I was afraid; it's so long since we saw you, I fancied you must have been bored the last time you were here." A small, thin, dry-featured man, with bald occiput and grizzled beard, Ralph Pomfret sat deep in an easy chair, his legs resting on another.
Humour and kindliness twinkled in his grey eye.