"More important matters? I'm ashamed of you," said Fluff, shaking her finger at him. "The fact is, squire, you mustn't be in a hurry about seeing Frances--you must curb your impatience; it's very good for you to curb it--it's a little discipline, and discipline properly administered always turns people out delightful. You'll be a very noble old man when you have had a little of the proper sort of training. Now, now--why, you look quite cross; I declare you're not a bit handsome when you're cross. Frances can't come to you at present--she's engaged about her own affairs." "And what may they be, pray, miss?" "Ah, that's my secret!" Fluff looked down; a becoming blush deepened the color in her cheeks; she toyed idly with a rosebud which she held in her hand. Something in her attitude, and the significant smile on her face, made the squire both angry and uneasy. "Speak out, child," he said. "You know I hate mysteries." "But I can't speak out," said Fluff. "The time to speak out hasn't come--I can only guess. Squire, I'm so glad--I really do think that Frances is in love with Philip." "You really do?" said the squire. He mimicked her tone sarcastically, red, angry spots grew on his old cheeks. "Frances in love with Philip, indeed! You have got pretty intimate with that young Australian, Fluff, when you call him by his Christian name." "Oh, yes; we arranged that yesterday. He's like a brother to me. I told you some time ago that he was in love with Frances. Now, I'm so delighted to be able to say that I think Frances is in love with him." "Tut--tut!" said the squire. "Little girls imagine things. Little girls are very fanciful." "Tut--tut!" responded Fluff, taking off his voice to the life. "Little girls see far below the surface; old men are very obtuse." "Fluff, if that's your secret, I don't think much of it. Run away now, and send my daughter to me." "I'll do nothing of the kind, for if she's not reading her letter she's talking to her true love. Oh, you must have a heart of stone to wish to disturb them!" The squire, with some difficulty, pushed aside his footstool, hobbled to his feet, and walked to the window where the southern sun was pouring in. In the distance he saw the gray of Frances's dress through the trees, and Philip's square, manly, upright figure walking slowly by her side. He pushed open the window, and hoarsely and angrily called his daughter's name. "She doesn't hear you," said Fluff. "I expect he's proposing for her now; isn't it lovely? Aren't you delighted? Oh, where's my guitar? I'm going to play 'Sweethearts.' I do hope, squire, you'll give Frances a very jolly wedding." But the squire had hobbled out of the room. He was really very lame with rheumatic gout; but the sight of that gray, slender figure, pacing slowly under the friendly sheltering trees, was too much for him; he was overcome with passion, anxiety, rage.