“Roger! an attachment! No! I never heard of it—I can hardly believe it—that is to say, I suppose it is to”——

And then he stopped; for he thought he had no right to betray his own conjecture, that the object was Cynthia Kirkpatrick.

“Yes. He is, though. Can you guess who to? Nobody that I particularly like—not a connection to my mind—yet she’s a very pretty girl; and I suppose I was to blame in the first instance.”

“Is it”——

“It’s no use beating about the bush. I’ve gone so far, I may as well tell you all. It’s Miss Kirkpatrick, Gibson’s step-daughter. But it’s not an engagement, mind you”——

“I’m very glad—I hope she likes Roger back again”——

“ ‘Like’! It’s only too good a connection for her not to like it: if Roger is of the same mind when he comes home, I’ll be bound she’ll be only too happy!”

“I wonder Roger never told me,” said Osborne, a little hurt, now he began to consider himself.

“He never told me either,” said the Squire. “It was Gibson, who came here, and made a clean breast of it, like a man of honour. I’d been saying to him, I couldn’t have either of you two lads taking up with his lasses. I’ll own it was you I was afraid of—it’s bad enough with Roger, and maybe will come to nothing after all; but, if it had been you, I’d ha’ broken with Gibson and every mother’s son of ’em, sooner than have let it go on; and so I told Gibson.”

“I beg your pardon for interrupting you; but, once for all, I claim the right of choosing my wife for myself, subject to no man’s interference,” said Osborne, hotly.

“Then you’ll keep your wife with no man’s interference, that’s all; for ne’er a penny will you get from me, my lad, unless you marry to please me a little, as well as yourself a great deal. That’s all I ask of you. I’m not particular as to beauty, or as to cleverness, and piano-playing, and that sort of thing; if Roger marries this girl, we shall have enough of that in the family. I shouldn’t much mind her being a bit older than you; but she must be well-born, and the more money she brings the better for the old place.”

“I say again, father, I choose my wife for myself, and I don’t admit any man’s right of dictation.”

“Well, well!” said the Squire, getting a little angry in his turn. “If I’m not to be father in this matter, thou shan’t be son. Go against me in what I’ve set my heart on, and you’ll find there’s the devil to pay, that’s all. But don’t let us get angry, it’s Sunday afternoon for one thing, and it’s a sin; and, besides that, I’ve not finished my story.”

For Osborne had taken up his book again, and under pretence of reading, was fuming to himself. He hardly put it away, even at his father’s request.

“As I was saying, Gibson said, when first we spoke about it, that there was nothing on foot between any of you four, and that, if there was, he would let me know; so by-and-by he comes and tells me of this.”

“Of what? I don’t understand how far it has gone?”

There was a tone in Osborne’s voice the Squire did not quite like, and he began answering rather angrily.

“Of this, to be sure—of what I’m telling you—of Roger going and making love to this girl, that day he left, after he had gone away from here, and was waiting for the ‘Umpire’ in Hollingford. One would think you quite stupid at times, Osborne.”