“The village people will find me a very different kind of customer if they come poaching on my land, my lord,” retorted Bartley Bradstone. Now, a gentleman, though he be a commoner, does not address a nobleman, to whom he has been introduced on equal terms, as “my lord,” and this time Bertie glanced coldly at the new neighbor, and, apparently now quite satisfied, turned from him to the squire and talked with him. They made their way to the house, Olivia and her father chatting over old times and Bertie’s travels with Bertie, and thus Bartley Bradstone was left out in the cold, or thought that he was. He stopped at the bottom of the flight of steps and looked at his watch. “It’s time I was going,” he said, sullenly. The squire started. “I hope you’ll stay to dinner, Bradstone,” he said, and the preoccupied, almost anxious look which had been absent while he had been talking to Bertie, came over his face again. “No, thanks; I’ve got an engagement,” replied Mr. Bradstone. “Good-day; don’t trouble, I can get my horse,” for the squire made a movement to accompany him; and raising his hat a couple of inches to Olivia, who bowed in silence, he strode off. An awkward silence fell upon the three. “That’s--that’s a very clever young man,” said the squire, with a little cough; “very clever. I think you’ll find him quite an acquisition to the neighborhood, Bertie.” “Oh, yes,” said Bertie; “rather a--er--rough kind of fellow, isn’t he? Not very good tempered, is he?” and he looked with a smile from the squire, whose brows contracted, to Olivia, whose face seemed like a mask in its cold reserve. “Not quite a--a gentleman?” The squire bit his lips. “Well--he is a very good-natured young fellow, and”--he paused again--“very rich.” “That’s more his misfortune than his fault, perhaps,” said Bertie, with a laugh. “Misfortune!” echoed the squire, in a strange tone; then he laughed. “I don’t think he would so describe it. I rather think it is his fault.” “I see,” said Bertie, easily. “Made his money himself, and all that. Well, that’s in his favor, anyhow. I dare say he is a good fellow, and it’s a capital idea of his, this preserving. Oh, yes! I like a man who has made his own fortune, don’t you, Olivia?” “It all depends,” replied Olivia, dryly. The squire glanced at her, not impatiently, but anxiously, questioningly, doubtfully. “I’ve never heard a word against Mr. Bradstone,” he remarked, with a querulousness which was so new to him that Bertie almost stared at him. “He is the essence of good-nature, and has exerted it on--on several occasions. I hope you’ll like him, Bertie.” “Of course I shall--if you wish it,” said Bertie, promptly and heartily.