“No, of course they’re not. They’re going all wrong, as usual. More wrong than usual. Johnson takes more advantage than ever of there being nobody to look after him properly.” Johnson was the farm bailiff, and he had worked all the better for the suggestions sharp-sighted Bram had made to Claire. Since Bram’s banishment Johnson had been rampant again. Claire was quite conscious of this, and she turned to another subject, to allow him no opportunity of applying her comments. “And you--at least I needn’t ask. You always get on all right, don’t you?” “I shall come to grief to-morrow,” answered Bram soberly. “I’ve got to go up to the Park to dinner. What do you think of that, Miss Claire? And to wear a black coat and a stiff shirt-front, just like a gentleman! Won’t they all laugh at me when my back’s turned, and talk about daws’ and peacocks’ feathers? It’s all Mr. Christian’s fault, so I suppose you will say it’s all right?” “It is all right, Bram,” said Claire gravely; “and they won’t laugh at you. They can’t. You’re too modest. And too clever besides.” She paused, dropped her work in her lap, and looked intently at the fire. “Is it true that you’re going to be married, Bram?” she presently asked abruptly. “Married! Me! Lord, no. Who told you such a thing as that?” And Bram stood up and looked at her, letting his plane lie idle. “Papa said he thought you were. He said you were engaged to a girl who lived in the country. You never told me about her.” “And is that why you sent me away?” At his tone of dismay Claire burst out laughing with her old hilarity. “Oh, no, oh, no. I sent you away, if you must know, because I had heard that you were to go up and dine at Holme Park, and because I knew that it would be better for you to be able to say there that you didn’t visit us.” “Is _that_ what you call a reason?” asked Bram scornfully, angrily. “Yes, that’s one reason.” “Well, well, haven’t you any better ones?” “Perhaps. But I shan’t tell you any more, so you need not ask me for them. I want to know something about this girl you’re engaged to.” “Not engaged,” said Bram stolidly. “Well, in love with then? I want to know something about her. I think it very strange that I never heard anything about her before. What is she like?” “Well, she’s like other girls,” said Bram. “She is much like nine out of every ten girls you meet.” “Really? I shouldn’t have thought you’d care for a girl like that, Bram.” “You must care for what you can get in this world,” said Bram sententiously. “Well, tell me something more. Is she tall or short, fair or dark? Has she blue eyes, or gray ones, or brown?” Bram looked thoughtful. “Well, she’s neither tall nor short. She’s not very dark, nor yet very fair. And her eyes are a sort of drab color, I think.” “You don’t mean it, Bram? I suppose you think it’s no business of mine?” “That’s it, Miss Claire.” “I don’t believe in the existence of this girl with the drab-colored eyes, Bram.”