“Ay, ay; he’s twice as much a son to me as Osborne, who has been all his life set up on nothing at all, as one may say.”

“Come, Squire, I mustn’t hear anything against Osborne; we may praise one, without hitting at the other. Osborne hasn’t had the strong health which has enabled Roger to work as he has done. I met a man who knew his tutor at Trinity the other day, and of course we began cracking about Roger—it’s not every day that one can reckon a senior wrangler among one’s friends, and I’m nearly as proud of the lad as you are. This Mr. Mason told me, the tutor said that only half of Roger’s success was owing to his mental powers; the other half was owing to his perfect health, which enabled him to work harder and more continuously than most men without suffering. He said that in all his experience he had never known any one with an equal capacity for mental labour; and that he could come again with a fresh appetite to his studies after shorter intervals of rest than most. Now I, being a doctor, trace a good deal of his superiority to the material cause of a thoroughly good constitution, which Osborne hasn’t got.”

“Osborne might have, if he got out o’ doors more,” said the Squire moodily; “but, except when he can loaf into Hollingford, he doesn’t care to go out at all. I hope,” he continued, with a glance of sudden suspicion at Mr. Gibson, “he’s not after one of your girls? I don’t mean any offence, you know; but he’ll have the estate, and it won’t be free, and he must marry money. I don’t think I could allow it in Roger; but Osborne’s the eldest son, you know.”

Mr. Gibson reddened; he was offended for a moment. Then the partial truth of what the Squire said was presented to his mind, and he remembered their old friendship; so he spoke quietly, if shortly.

“I don’t believe there’s anything of the kind going on. I’m not much at home, you know; but I’ve never heard or seen anything that should make me suppose that there is. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

“Now, Gibson, don’t go and be offended! I’m glad for the boys to have a pleasant house to go to, and I thank you and Mrs. Gibson for making it pleasant. Only keep off love; it can come to no good. That’s all. I don’t believe Osborne will ever earn a farthing to keep a wife during my life; and, if I were to die to- morrow, she would have to bring some money to clear the estate. And, if I do speak as I shouldn’t have done formerly—a little sharp or so—why, it’s because I’ve been worried by many a care no one knows anything of.”

“I’m not going to take offence,” said Mr. Gibson; “but let us understand each other clearly. If you don’t want your sons to come as much to my house as they do, tell them so yourself. I like the lads, and am glad to see them; but, if they do come, you must take the consequences, whatever they are, and not blame me, or them either, for what may happen from the frequent intercourse between two young men and two young women; and, what is more, though, as I said, I see nothing whatever of the kind you fear at present, and have promised to tell you of the first symptoms I do see, yet farther than that I won’t go. If there’s an attachment at any future time, I won’t interfere.”

“I shouldn’t so much mind if Roger fell in love with your Molly. He can fight for himself, you see, and she’s an uncommon nice girl. My poor wife was so fond of her,” answered the Squire. “It’s Osborne and the estate I’m thinking of!”

“Well, then, tell him not to come near us! I shall be sorry, but you will be safe.”

“I’ll think about it; but he’s difficult to manage. I’ve always to get my blood well up, before I can speak my mind to him.”

Mr. Gibson was leaving the room; but at these words he turned and laid his hand on the Squire’s arm.

“Take my advice, Squire! As I said, there’s no harm done as yet, as far as I know. Prevention is better than cure. Speak out, but speak gently to Osborne, and do it at once! I shall understand how it is, if he