“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Tom, looking at him in sheer amazement. “Oh, don’t pretend that you don’t know what I mean.” “It may seem stupid on my part, but I must really plead ignorance.” “You worm yourself into my confidence till you get the run of the house, and can come and go as you like, and you finish up by making love to my daughter!” “It is no crime to love Miss Culpepper, I hope, sir. There are few people, I imagine, who could know her without loving her.” “That’s all very well, but you don’t get over me in that way, young sir. What right have you to make love to my daughter? That’s what I want to know.” “I may love Miss Culpepper, but I have never told her so.” “Do you mean to say that you have never asked her to marry you?” “Never, sir; on that point I give you my word of honour.” “A good thing for you that you haven’t. The sooner you get that love tomfoolery out of your head the better.” “I promise you one thing, sir,” said Tom; “if I ever do marry Miss Culpepper, it shall be with your full consent and good wishes.” The Squire could not help chuckling. “In that case, my boy, you will never have her—not if you live to be as old as Methuselah.” “Time will prove, sir.” “And look ye here. There must be no more walks in the shrubbery, no more gallivanting together among the woods. Do you understand?” “Perfectly, sir. Your words could not be plainer.” “I mean them to be plain. There seems to be no harm done so far, but it’s time this nonsense was put a stop to. Miss Culpepper must marry in a very different sphere from yours.” “Pardon the remark, sir, but you were quite willing to take Mr. Edward Cope as your son-in-law. Now, I consider myself quite as good a man as Mr. Cope—quite as eligible a suitor for your daughter’s hand.” “Then I don’t. Besides, young Cope would never have had the chance of getting her if he hadn’t been the son of my oldest friend; the son of the man to whose bravery I owe my life itself. Master Edward owes it to his father and not to himself that I ever sanctioned his engagement to Miss Culpepper.” “I am indebted for this good turn to Mrs. McDermott,” said Tom to himself, as he walked homeward through the park. “It will only have the effect of bringing matters to a climax a little earlier than I intended, but it will not alter my plans in the least.” “Fanny has been exaggerating as usual,” was the Squire’s comment. “There was something in it, no doubt, and it’s just as well to have crushed it in the bud; but I think it’s hardly worth while to say anything to Jenny about it.”