Sure enough, Tom did not fail to be there. The Squire gave him a hearty greeting, and took him into the study before he had an opportunity of seeing Jane. “I’ve heard nothing more from those railway people about the Croft,” he said. “Penfold was here yesterday and wanted to know whether he was to go on with the villas—all the foundations are now in, you know. I hardly knew what instructions to give him.” “If you were to ask me, sir,” said Tom, “I should certainly say, let him begin to run up the carcases as quickly as possible. I happen to know that the company must have the Croft—that they cannot possibly do without it. They are only hanging fire awhile, hoping to get you to go to them and make them an offer, instead of their being compelled to come to you; which, in a transaction of this nature, makes all the difference.” “I don’t think you are far wrong in your views,” said Mr. Culpepper. “I’ll turn over in my mind what you’ve said.” Which meant that the Squire would certainly adopt Tom’s advice. “No lovemaking, you know, Bristow,” whispered the old man, with a dig in the ribs, as they entered the dining-room. “You may trust me, sir,” said Tom. “I’m not so sure on that score. We are none of us saints when a pretty girl is in question.” Tom did not fail to keep the Squire alive during dinner. To the old man his fund of news seemed inexhaustible. In reality, his resources in that line were never put to the test. Three or four skilfully introduced topics sufficed. The Squire’s own long-winded remarks, unknown to himself, filled up three-fourths of the time. Then Tom made a splendid listener. His attention never flagged. He was always ready with his “I quite agree with you, sir;” or his “Just so, sir;” or his “Those are my sentiments exactly, sir.” To be able to talk for half an hour at a time to an appreciative listener on some topic that interested him strongly was a treat that the Squire thoroughly enjoyed. After the cloth was drawn he decided that instead of remaining by himself for half an hour, he would go with the young people to the drawing-room. He could have his snooze just as well there as in the dining-room, and he flattered himself that his presence, even though he might be asleep, would be a sufficient safeguard against any of that illicit lovemaking respecting which Bristow had been duly cautioned. As a still further precaution, he nudged Tom again, as they went into the drawing-room, and whispered, “None of your tomfoolery, remember.” Five minutes later he was fast asleep. They could not play, or sing, or talk much, while the Squire slept, so they fell back upon chess. “There’s to be no lovemaking, you know, Jenny,” whispered Tom, across the table, with a twinkle in his eye. “None, whatever,” whispered Jane back, with a little shake of the head, and a demure smile.