‘Indeed, Sir Christifer, I know a deal o’ farmin,’ an’ was brought up i’ the thick on it, as you may say.  An’ there was my husband’s great-aunt managed a farm for twenty year, an’ left legacies to all her nephys an’ nieces, an’ even to my husband, as was then a babe unborn.’

’Psha! a woman six feet high, with a squint and sharp elbows, I daresay—­a man in petticoats.  Not a rosy-cheeked widow like you, Mrs. Hartopp.’

‘Indeed, your honour, I never heard of her squintin’, an’ they said as she might ha’ been married o’er and o’er again, to people as had no call to hanker after her money.’

’Ay, ay, that’s what you all think.  Every man that looks at you wants to marry you, and would like you the better the more children you have and the less money.  But it is useless to talk and cry.  I have good reasons for my plans, and never alter them.  What you have to do is to take the best of your stock, and to look out for some little place to go to, when you leave The Hollows.  Now, go back to Mrs. Bellamy’s room, and ask her to give you a dish of tea.’

Mrs. Hartopp, understanding from Sir Christopher’s tone that he was not to be shaken, curtsied low and left the library, while the Baronet, seating himself at his desk in the oriel window, wrote the following letter: 

Mr. Markham,—­Take no steps about letting Crowsfoot Cottage, as I intend to put in the widow Hartopp when she leaves her farm; and if you will be here at eleven on Saturday morning, I will ride round with you, and settle about making some repairs, and see about adding a bit of land to the take, as she will want to keep a cow and some pigs.—­Yours faithfully,

Christopher Cheverel

After ringing the bell and ordering this letter to be sent, Sir Christopher walked out to join the party on the lawn.  But finding the cushions deserted, he walked on to the eastern front of the building, where, by the side of the grand entrance, was the large bow-window of the saloon, opening on to the gravel-sweep, and looking towards a long vista of undulating turf, bordered by tall trees, which, seeming to unite itself with the green of the meadows and a grassy road through a plantation, only terminated with the Gothic arch of a gateway in the far distance.  The bow-window was open, and Sir Christopher, stepping in, found the group he sought, examining the progress of the unfinished ceiling.  It was in the same style of florid pointed Gothic as the dining-room, but more elaborate in its tracery, which was like petrified lace-work picked out with delicate and varied colouring.  About a fourth of its still remained uncoloured, and under this part were scaffolding, ladders, and tools; otherwise the spacious saloon was empty of furniture, and seemed to be a grand Gothic canopy for the group of five human figures standing in the centre.

‘Francesco has been getting on a little better the last day or two,’ said Sir Christopher, as he joined the party:  ’he’s a sad lazy dog, and I fancy he has a knack of sleeping as he stands, with his brushes in his hands.  But I must spur him on, or we may not have the scaffolding cleared away before the bride comes, if you show dexterous generalship in your wooing, eh, Anthony? and take your Magdeburg quickly.’