He gave Richard half-an-hour's start, and then put on his hat to follow his own keen scent, leaving Hippias and the Eighteenth Century to piquet.
In the lane near Belthorpe he met a maid of the farm not unknown to him, one Molly Davenport by name, a buxom lass, who, on seeing him, invoked her Good Gracious, the generic maid's familiar, and was instructed by reminiscences vivid, if ancient, to giggle.
"Are you looking for your young gentleman ?" Molly presently asked.
Adrian glanced about the lane like a cool brigand, to see if the coast was clear, and replied to her, "I am, miss.

I want you to tell me about him." "Dear!" said the buxom lass, "was you coming for me to-night to know ?" Adrian rebuked her: for her bad grammar, apparently.
"'Cause I can't stop out long to-night," Molly explained, taking the rebuke to refer altogether to her bad grammar.
"You may go in when you please, miss.

Is that any one coming?
Come here in the shade." "Now, get along!" said Miss Molly.
Adrian spoke with resolution.

"Listen to me, Molly Davenport!" He put a coin in her hand, which had a medical effect in calming her to attention.

"I want to know whether you have seen him at all ?" "Who?
Your young gentleman?
I sh'd think I did.