noon
This year it so chanced that he chose the wilds of Exmoor for the scene of his outrages . He settled down in a small inn and plied his brush busily . Of course he did not paint anything that the ordinary person cared to see , or in the way in which it would appear to such person . But he was greatly pleased with his work ; and one day , as he threw himself down on a bank at noon and got out his bread and cheese , he was so carried away , being by nature a conceited man , as to exclaim : `` My head of Stafford was the best head done these hundred years ; and that 's the best bit of background done these hundred and fifty ! '' The frame of the phrase seemed familiar to him as he uttered it , and he had just succeeded in tracing it back to the putative parentage of Lord Verulam , when , to his great astonishment , he heard Stafford 's voice from the top of the bank , saying : `` As I am in your mind already , Mr. Morewood , I feel my bodily appearance less of an intrusion on your solitude . '' `` Why , how in the world did you come here ? '' The spot was within ten miles of the Retreat , and part of Stafford 's treatment for himself consisted of long walks ; but he only replied : `` I am staying near here . ''