'Yes, Mr Owen, if I can without doing or saying what is wrong.' Owen looked Gladys again in the face, as she slightly raised her head to answer his question. Why that burning blush? Why those bright, expressive eyes, if she did not care for him? For a moment he had hope, and pressed the hand he held. Again she bent over the cow that divided them, and tried to withdraw her hand. At any other time Owen would have laughed at the notion of making an offer, divided from his beloved by a fine Alderney cow, but now he was too much in earnest for laughing. 'Gladys, do you love my brother Rowland?' he asked. Gladys now looked at him in unfeigned astonishment as she answered,-- 'No, Mr Owen; surely I have never given you reason to suppose so. A grand gentleman like him!' 'But there is a still grander of whom I am jealous,' continued Owen. 'Colonel Vaughan, I have often seen him here upon every excuse--and always to look at you. I have seen him, and know it well. Do you care for this great gentleman?' 'Oh! no sir,' said Gladys, sadly. 'How can you suspect me of such a thing? Are my manners so forward, or am I so foolish as to let any one suppose I could think of people so far above me? This is not kind, Mr Owen.' 'One more, Gladys. Those beneath you, then. You cannot, I feel you cannot, think of that gardener or footman at the Park, or of young Gwillim, the Half Moon, or--there are so many who admire you, Gladys.' 'Oh! no, sir, I do not think so; no one says so to me, and I care for none of them. Now, I had better go, if you please, Mr Owen--my mistress will be wanting me.' 'I should think she 'ould, seure enough,' said a stentorian voice, as Mr Prothero entered the cow-house, having just heard the last words, and seen the clasped hands. Gladys looked entreatingly at Owen, who at once said, 'It was my fault that she stayed here, I kept her against her will.' Gladys glanced gratefully at Owen, and left him with his father; but before she was out of hearing, the farmer's loud voice was audible, informing Owen that he 'didn't want another 'lopement from his house; and that that Irish beggar should leave the place.' 'It was all chance, father, and my fault,' said Owen. 'It's always chance and your fault then. Where Gladys is, you're seure to be pretty near. She's a good sort of young 'ooman enough, but you have no call to be for ever hunting after her.' 'I don't see why I shouldn't if I like. It doesn't hurt anybody, and is only kind to her.' 'But I don't cheuse her to be thinking you're going to make love to her, and by-and-by, perhaps, expecting to--there's no knowing what young 'oomen may expect.' 'She isn't one to expect very much, and I am sure she doesn't take any liberties with any one, or go beyond her place.' 'Treue for you there; but that's no fault of yours. You don't take notice of any other female that I see, and seure you eused to make love to them all in turns.'