“And not all of them for the better,” said the Major. “Tempera mores, eh?”

Mr. Drybeck winced slightly, and said in a pensive voice, as though to himself: “O tempora, O mores! Perhaps one would rather say tempora mutantur.”

The Major, prevented by circumstance from expressing any such Preference, attempted no response. Mr. Drybeck said: “One is tempted to finish the tag, but I do not feel that I for one have changed very much with the times. It is sometimes difficult to repress a wish that our little community had not altered so sadly. I find myself remembering the days when the Brotherlees owned The Cedars—not that I have anything to say in disparagement of the Haswells, very estimable people, I am sure, but not, it must be owned, quite like the Brotherlees.”

“Not at all, no,” said the Major, in all sincerity. “Well, for one thing, the Brotherlees never entertained, did they? I must say, I think the Haswells are a distinct acquisition to Thornden. Nice to see that fine old house put into good order again, too. But if you're thinking of the present owner of Fox House, why, there I'm with you! A very poor exchange for the Churnsikes, I've always held—and I'm not the only one of that opinion.”

Mr. Drybeck looked pleased, but only said, in a mild voice: “Rather a fish out of water, poor Warrenby.”

“I can't think what induced him to move out of the town,” said the Major. “I should have said he was a good deal more in his element in the Melkinton Road than he'll ever be at Fox House. Not by any means a pukka sahib, as we used to say in the good old days. Ah, well! It takes all sorts to make a world, I suppose.”

Mr. Drybeck agreed to this, but as though he found it a regrettable thing; and the two gentlemen walked on in meditative silence.