It soon became known that the new-comer would not add much to the gaiety of the place.  The only people whom he knew in Dillsborough were his own tenants, Mr. Runciman and Mr. Masters, and the attorney’s eldest daughter.  During those months which he had spent with Lady Ushant at Bragton, Mary had been living there, then a child of twelve years old; and, as a child, had become his fast friend.  With his aunt he had, continually corresponded, and partly at her instigation, and partly from feelings of his own, he had at once gone to the attorney’s house.  This was now two years since, and he had found in his old playmate a beautiful young woman, in his opinion very unlike the people with whom she lived.  For the first twelvemonths he saw her occasionally,—­though not indeed very often.  Once or twice he had drunk tea at the attorney’s house, on which occasions the drawing-room upstairs had been almost as grand as it was uncomfortable.  Then the attentions of Larry Twentyman began to make themselves visible, infinitely to Reginald Morton’s disgust.  Up to that time he had no idea of falling in love with the girl himself.  Since he had begun to think on such subjects at all he had made up his mind that he would not marry.  He was almost the more proud of his birth by his father’s side, because he had been made to hear so much of his mother’s low position.  He had told himself a hundred times that under no circumstances could he marry any other than a lady of good birth.  But his own fortune was small, and he knew himself well enough to be sure that he would not marry for money.  He was now nearly forty years of age and had never yet been thrown into the society of any one that had attracted him.  He was sure that he would not marry.  And yet when he saw that Mr. Twentyman was made much of and flattered by the whole Masters family, apparently because he was regarded as an eligible husband for Mary, Reginald Morton was not only disgusted, but personally offended.  Being a most unreasonable man he conceived a bitter dislike to poor Larry, who, at any rate, was truly in love, and was not looking too high in desiring to marry the portionless daughter of the attorney.  But Morton thought that the man ought to be kicked and horsewhipped, or, at any rate, banished into some speechless exile for his presumption.

With Mr. Runciman he had dealings, and in some sort friendship.  There were two meadows attached to Hoppet Hall, fields lying close to the town, which were very suitable for the landlord’s purposes.  Mr. Mainwaring had held them in his own hands, taking them up from Mr. Runciman, who had occupied them while the house was untenanted, in a manner which induced Mr. Runciman to feel that it was useless to go to church to hear such sermons as those preached by the rector.  But Morton had restored the fields, giving them rent free, on condition that he should be supplied with milk and butter.  Mr. Runciman, no doubt, had the best of the bargain, as he generally had in