“Highty tighty,” said the earl.

“It’s very ridiculous, I know,” said Johnny, “and, of course, she would never have accepted me.”

“I don’t see that at all.”

“I haven’t a shilling in the world.”

“Girls don’t care much for that.”

“And then a clerk in the Income-tax Office!  It’s such a poor thing.”

“The other fellow was only a clerk in another office.”

The earl living down at Guestwick did not understand that the Income-tax Office in the city, and the General Committee Office at Whitehall, were as far apart as Dives and Lazarus and separated by as impassable a gulf.

“Oh, yes,” said Johnny; “but his office is another kind of thing, and then he was a swell himself.”

“By George, I don’t see it,” said the earl.

“I don’t wonder a bit at her accepting a fellow like that.  I hated him the first moment I saw him; but that’s no reason she should hate him.  He had that sort of manner, you know.  He was a swell, and girls like that kind of thing.  I never felt angry with her, but I could have eaten him.”  As he spoke he looked as though he would have made some such attempt had Crosbie been present.

“Did you ever ask her to have you?” said the earl.

“No; how could I ask her, when I hadn’t bread to give her?”

“And you never told her—­that you were in love with her, I mean, and all that kind of thing.”

“She knows it now,” said Johnny; “I went to say good-bye to her the other day, when I thought she was going to be married.  I could not help telling her then.”

“But it seems to me, my dear fellow, that you ought to be very much obliged to Crosbie;—­that is to say, if you’ve a mind to—­”

“I know what you mean, my lord.  I am not a bit obliged to him.  It’s my belief that all this will about kill her.  As to myself, if I thought she’d ever have me—­”

Then he was again silent, and the earl could see that the tears were in his eyes.

“I think I begin to understand it,” said the earl, “and I’ll give you a bit of advice.  You come down and spend your Christmas with me at Guestwick.”

“Oh, my lord!”

“Never mind my-lording me, but do as I tell you.  Lady Julia sent you a message, though I forgot all about it till now.  She wants to thank you herself for what you did in the field.”

“That’s all nonsense, my lord.”

“Very well; you can tell her so.  You may take my word for this, too,—­my sister hates Crosbie quite as much as you do.  I think she’d ‘pitch into him,’ as you call it, herself, if she knew how.  You come down to Guestwick for the Christmas, and then go over to Allington and tell them all plainly what you mean.”

“I couldn’t say a word to her now.”

“Say it to the squire, then.  Go to him, and tell him what you mean,—­holding your head up like a man.  Don’t talk to me about swells.  The man who means honestly is the best swell I know.  He’s the only swell I recognise.  Go to old Dale, and say you come from me,—­from Guestwick Manor.  Tell him that if he’ll put a little stick under the pot to make it boil, I’ll put a bigger one.  He’ll understand what that means.”