The Squire shook his head. “You don’t know Fanny McDermott as well as I do,” he said. “Have I your permission to try the experiment?” “You have—and my devoutest wishes for your success. Only you must not compromise me in any way in the matter.” “You may safely trust me not to do that. But you must give me an invitation to come and stay with you at Pincote for a week.” “With all my heart.” “I shall devote myself very assiduously to Mrs. McDermott, so that you must not be surprised if we seem to be very great friends in the course of a couple of days.” “Do as you like, boy. I’ll take no notice. But she’s an old soldier, is Fan, and if for a single moment she suspects what you are after, she’ll nail her colours to the mast, defy us all, and stop here for six months longer.” “It is, of course, quite possible that I may fail,” said Tom, “but somehow I hardly think that I shall.” “We’ll have a glass of sherry together and drink to your success. By-the-by, have you contrived yet to purge your brain of that lovesick tomfoolery?” “If, sir, you intend that phrase to apply to my feelings with regard to Miss Culpepper, I can only say that they are totally unchanged.” “What an idiot you are in some things, Bristow!” said the Squire, crustily. “Remember this—I’ll have no lovemaking here next week.” “You need have no fear on that score, sir.” CHAPTER VII. EXIT MRS. MCDERMOTT. Tom and his portmanteau reached Pincote together a day or two after his last conversation with the Squire. Mrs. McDermott understood that Tom had been invited to spend a week there in order to assist her brother with his books and farm accounts. It seemed to her a very injudicious thing to do, but she did not say much about it. In truth, she was rather pleased than otherwise to have Tom there. It was dreadfully monotonous to have to spend one evening after another with no company save that of her brother and Jane. She was tired of her audience, and her audience were tired of her. Mr. Bristow, as she knew already, could talk well, was lively company, and, above all things; was an excellent listener. She had done her duty by her brother in warning him of what was going on between Mr. Bristow and her niece; if, after that, the Squire chose to let the two young people come together, it was not her place to dispute his right to do so. Tom was very attentive to her at dinner that day. Of Jane he took no notice beyond what the occasion absolutely demanded. Mrs. McDermott was agreeably surprised. “He has come to his senses at last, as I thought he would,” she said to herself. “Grown tired of Jane’s society, and no wonder. There’s nothing in her.” As soon as the cloth was removed, Jane excused herself on the score of a headache, and left the room. The Squire got into an easy-chair and settled himself down for a post-prandial nap. Tom moved his chair a little nearer that of the widow.