He had of late been playing deeper and having worse luck; and had borrowed until no one would lend him a single sovereign more. His father knew, in a vague way, how he was going on, and had nearly lost hope of his reformation. Having yet large remains of a fine physical constitution, he seldom failed to appear at the bank in the morning--if not quite in time, yet within the margin of lateness that escaped rebuke. Mr. Shotover was a connection by marriage, which gave Marway the privilege of being regarded by Miss Shotover as a cousin--a privilege with desirable possibilities contingent, making him anxious to retain the good opinion of his employer. Clare heard but a portion here and there of the conversation going on outside the wooden wall; but it was plain nevertheless that Marway was pressing a creditor to leave him alone until he was married, when he would pay every shilling he owed him. The young fellow had a persuasive tongue, and boasted he could get the better of even a Jew. Clare heard the money-lender grant him a renewal for three months, when, if Marway did not pay, or were not the accepted suitor of the lady whose fortune was to redeem him, his creditor would take his course. The moment he perceived they were about to part, Clare hastened from the caravan, and went along the edge of the waste ground, so as to meet Marway on his road back to the town: at the corner of it they came jump together. Marway started when Clare addressed him. Seeing, then, who claimed his attention, he drew himself up. “Well?” he said. “Mr. Marway,” began Clare, “I heard a great deal of what passed between you and old Lewin.” Marway used worse than vulgar language at times, and he did so now, ending with the words, “A spy! a sneaking spy! Would you like to lick my boot? By Jove, you shall know the taste of it!” “Nobody minds being overheard who hasn’t something to conceal! If I had low secrets I would not stand up against the side of a caravan when I wanted to talk about them. I was inside. Not to hear you I should have had to stop my ears.” “Why didn’t you, then, you low-bred flunkey?” “Because I had heard of you what made it my duty to listen.” Marway cursed his insolence, and asked what he was doing in such a place. He would report him, he said. “What I was doing is my business,” answered Clare. “Had I known you for an honest man I would not have listened to yours. I should have had no right.” “You tell me to my face I’m a swindler!” said Marway between his teeth, letting out a blow at Clare, which he cleverly dodged. “I do!” “I don’t know what you mean, but bitterly shall you repent your insolence, you prying rascal! This is your sweet revenge for a blow you had not the courage to return!--to dog me and get hold of my affairs! You cur! You’re going to turn informer next, of course, and bear false witness against your neighbour! You shall repent it, I swear!”