“Mr. Carstone has laid down the principle of watching his own interests,” said Mr. Vholes, “and when a client lays down his own principle, and it is not immoral, it devolves upon me to carry it out.  I wish in business to be exact and open.  I am a widower with three daughters—­Emma, Jane, and Caroline—­and my desire is so to discharge the duties of life as to leave them a good name.  This appears to be a pleasant spot, miss.”

The remark being made to me in consequence of my being next him as we walked, I assented and enumerated its chief attractions.

“Indeed?” said Mr. Vholes.  “I have the privilege of supporting an aged father in the Vale of Taunton—­his native place—­and I admire that country very much.  I had no idea there was anything so attractive here.”

To keep up the conversation, I asked Mr. Vholes if he would like to live altogether in the country.

“There, miss,” said he, “you touch me on a tender string.  My health is not good (my digestion being much impaired), and if I had only myself to consider, I should take refuge in rural habits, especially as the cares of business have prevented me from ever coming much into contact with general society, and particularly with ladies’ society, which I have most wished to mix in.  But with my three daughters, Emma, Jane, and Caroline—­and my aged father—­I cannot afford to be selfish.  It is true I have no longer to maintain a dear grandmother who died in her hundred and second year, but enough remains to render it indispensable that the mill should be always going.”

It required some attention to hear him on account of his inward speaking and his lifeless manner.

“You will excuse my having mentioned my daughters,” he said.  “They are my weak point.  I wish to leave the poor girls some little independence, as well as a good name.”

We now arrived at Mr. Boythorn’s house, where the tea-table, all prepared, was awaiting us.  Richard came in restless and hurried shortly afterwards, and leaning over Mr. Vholes’s chair, whispered something in his ear.  Mr. Vholes replied aloud—­or as nearly aloud I suppose as he had ever replied to anything—­“You will drive me, will you, sir?  It is all the same to me, sir.  Anything you please.  I am quite at your service.”

We understood from what followed that Mr. Skimpole was to be left until the morning to occupy the two places which had been already paid for.  As Ada and I were both in low spirits concerning Richard and very sorry so to part with him, we made it as plain as we politely could that we should leave Mr. Skimpole to the Dedlock Arms and retire when the night-travellers were gone.

Richard’s high spirits carrying everything before them, we all went out together to the top of the hill above the village, where he had ordered a gig to wait and where we found a man with a lantern standing at the head of the gaunt pale horse that had been harnessed to it.