“Well, Adam,” said Arthur, “you’ve been looking at the fine old beeches, eh?  They’re not to be come near by the hatchet, though; this is a sacred grove.  I overtook pretty little Hetty Sorrel as I was coming to my den—­the Hermitage, there.  She ought not to come home this way so late.  So I took care of her to the gate, and asked for a kiss for my pains.  But I must get back now, for this road is confoundedly damp.  Good-night, Adam.  I shall see you to-morrow—­to say good-bye, you know.”

Arthur was too much preoccupied with the part he was playing himself to be thoroughly aware of the expression in Adam’s face.  He did not look directly at Adam, but glanced carelessly round at the trees and then lifted up one foot to look at the sole of his boot.  He cared to say no more—­he had thrown quite dust enough into honest Adam’s eyes—­and as he spoke the last words, he walked on.

“Stop a bit, sir,” said Adam, in a hard peremptory voice, without turning round.  “I’ve got a word to say to you.”

Arthur paused in surprise.  Susceptible persons are more affected by a change of tone than by unexpected words, and Arthur had the susceptibility of a nature at once affectionate and vain.  He was still more surprised when he saw that Adam had not moved, but stood with his back to him, as if summoning him to return.  What did he mean?  He was going to make a serious business of this affair.  Arthur felt his temper rising.  A patronising disposition always has its meaner side, and in the confusion of his irritation and alarm there entered the feeling that a man to whom he had shown so much favour as to Adam was not in a position to criticize his conduct.  And yet he was dominated, as one who feels himself in the wrong always is, by the man whose good opinion he cares for.  In spite of pride and temper, there was as much deprecation as anger in his voice when he said, “What do you mean, Adam?”

“I mean, sir”—­answered Adam, in the same harsh voice, still without turning round—­“I mean, sir, that you don’t deceive me by your light words.  This is not the first time you’ve met Hetty Sorrel in this grove, and this is not the first time you’ve kissed her.”

Arthur felt a startled uncertainty how far Adam was speaking from knowledge, and how far from mere inference.  And this uncertainty, which prevented him from contriving a prudent answer, heightened his irritation.  He said, in a high sharp tone, “Well, sir, what then?”

“Why, then, instead of acting like th’ upright, honourable man we’ve all believed you to be, you’ve been acting the part of a selfish light-minded scoundrel.  You know as well as I do what it’s to lead to when a gentleman like you kisses and makes love to a young woman like Hetty, and gives her presents as she’s frightened for other folks to see.  And I say it again, you’re acting the part of a selfish light-minded scoundrel though it cuts me to th’ heart to say so, and I’d rather ha’ lost my right hand.”