"Oh, he's a well-to-do young man, very well-to-do. His father died about a year ago, and he came into the family property. It's not a large estate, but a snug bit of land, and the old man had saved money." "Quite an eligible young man then," said John Temple, a little mockingly. "Yes, Miss Margaret might do worse. And he's a nice lad, too; fond of sport and that kind of thing. But you'll be meeting him, for I suppose now we will often see you at the Hall?" Mr. Layton looked at John Temple with slight curiosity in his mild face as he said this, for he was remembering the lecture his wife had given him on the subject of the Hall. "I do not know, I am sure," answered John; "of course nothing has been said yet on any such subject." "Still, Mr. Temple, you are the direct heir, you know, to the squire after poor young Phil is gone. I always understood the Woodlea property was strictly entailed by the squire's father, on the surviving children of his sons, and you are now the only surviving child, I believe?" "I believe there was some such arrangement," said John, rather repressively. He considered it too soon to speak of heirs or heirships, and he was getting rather tired also of the vicar's company. "I think I must be going on my way," he added; "good-day, Mr. Layton," and he touched his hat. But the vicar was somewhat loth to be shaken off. "We will meet again at dinner-time; the squire has asked me to dinner; it's a sad occasion, but these things must be." It was not only a sad occasion, but a very tiresome occasion, John thought, some hours later, when he did meet the vicar again at the squire's table. And not only the vicar, but Mrs. Layton also, who dined unasked at the Hall. She had indeed spent the day there, and was not a woman to know there was a meal going on in her son-in-law's house without joining it. She, therefore, took her daughter's place at the head of the table, also unasked, and talked a good deal to John Temple. She was a brisk little woman, with a small thin face, and a sharp tongue. She might have been pretty once perhaps, when her eyes were not so hard, if that ever had been. Now she was certainly not pretty, nor sweet with any womanly grace. She had an eager, watchful look, as though always on the alert. She was watching John Temple, as she sat at the squire's table, and talked to him; watching and speculating as to what he would do after the squire was gone. "How is Mrs. Temple?" asked John, in a low tone, while the vicar was prosing on to the poor squire. "Poor dear, what can I say?" answered Mrs. Layton; "she was wrapped up in him; yes, wrapped up. I consider it wrong myself, Mr. Temple, to make an idol of anything; all may go, all may go! My dear squire, may I trouble you for a little more of that salmon? It's delicious."