the smart young farmer with his billicock hat, not quite straight on his head, was an odious thing to behold.  He exaggerated the swagger, and took no notice whatever of the well-made limbs.  And then this man had proposed to accompany him, had wanted to join his party, had thought it possible that a flirtation might be carried on in his presence!  He sincerely hated the man.  But what was he to think of such a girl as Mary Masters when she could bring herself to like the attentions of such a lover?

He was very cross with himself because he knew how unreasonable was his anger.  Of one thing only could he assure himself,—­that he would never again willingly put himself in Mary’s company.  What was Dillsborough and the ways of its inhabitants to him?  Why should he so far leave the old fashions of his life as to fret himself about an attorney’s daughter in a little English town?  And yet he did fret himself, walking rapidly, and smoking his pipe a great deal quicker than was his custom.

When he was about to return home he passed the front of the house, and there, standing at the open door, he saw Mrs. Hopkins, the housekeeper, who had in truth been waiting for him.  He said a good-natured word to her, intending to make his way on without stopping, but she called him back.  “Have you heard the news, Mr. Reginald?” she said.

“I haven’t heard any news this twelvemonth,” he replied.

“Laws, that is so like you, Mr. Reginald.  The young squire is to be here next week.”

“Who is the young squire?  I didn’t know there was any squire now.”

“Mr. Reginald!”

“A squire as I take it, Mrs. Hopkins, is a country gentleman who lives on his own property.  Since my grandfather’s time no such gentleman has lived at Bragton.”

“That’s true, too, Mr. Reginald.  Any way Mr. Morton is coming down next week.”

“I thought he was in America.”

“He has come home, for a turn like,—­and is staying up in town with the old lady.”  The old lady always meant the Honourable Mrs. Morton.

“And is the old lady coming down with him?”

“I fancy she is, Mr. Reginald.  He didn’t say as much, but only that there would be three or four, a couple of ladies he said, and perhaps more.  So I am getting the east bedroom, with the dressing-room, and the blue room for her ladyship.”  People about Bragton had been accustomed to call Mrs. Morton her ladyship.  “That’s where she always used to be.  Would you come in and see, Mr. Reginald?”

“Certainly not, Mrs. Hopkins.  If you were asking me into a house of your own, I would go in and see all the rooms and chat with you for an hour; but I don’t suppose I shall ever go into this house again unless things change very much indeed.”

“Then I’m sure I hope they will change, Mr. Reginald.”  Mrs. Hopkins had known Reginald Morton as a boy growing up into manhood, had almost been present at his birth, and had renewed her friendship while he was staying with Lady Ushant; but of the present squire, as she called him, she had seen almost nothing, and what she had once remembered of him had now been obliterated by an absence of twenty years.  Of course she was on Reginald’s side in the family quarrel, although she was the paid servant of the Foreign Office paragon.