“You are rather hard upon me,” he said, in a low voice. He paused. “I am sorry I did not see Mr. Vanley this morning; but consider--what sympathy, what friendship could exist between Harold Faradeane of The Dell and the Squire of Hawkwood?” Olivia flushed. “Do you think my father values a man by the size of the house he inhabits, Mr. Faradeane?” “I think him a high-minded English gentleman,” he responded, with grave earnestness, “but between a man in his position and a man in mine there is a vast difference.” Olivia bit her lip, and turned aside with a slight bow. “Will you give these to Bessie, Alford?” she said, as if she had finished with Mr. Faradeane. He stood with his dark, sad eyes fixed on the ground; then he approached her. “I have offended you,” in a low, almost an appealing voice. Olivia turned to him with lowered lids. “Oh, no.” “Your words say ‘No,’ but your tone says ‘Yes,’” he said. Olivia tried to laugh. “Well, you must admit that one may be rather displeased at having one’s overtures of friendship declined, however politely,” she said. He dug a stone out of the path with his stick; then he looked up at her. “You have put the case candidly; but think, Miss Vanley--your father knows nothing of me. He has paid me the attention of a call, because I was so fortunate as to be of slight service to one of his servants. Am I to take advantage of such an accident? He knows nothing of me, remember.” “My father is perfectly free to choose his friends,” she retorted. “He would have called on you, even if this accident of Bessie’s had not occurred.” He struck the pebble he had dug out, and sighed. “Do not tempt me,” he murmured, in so low a voice that Olivia did not hear him. “What did you say?” she asked. He fixed his dark eyes on hers. “Miss Vanley,” he said, the lines of his forehead deepening, as if he were going through a mental struggle, “I came to this place resolved to isolate myself, separate myself, from the society of my fellowmen. My reasons are of no consequence in the argument. I came here to bury myself. Chance, accident, Providence, as some would call it, has thrown me into intercourse with my neighbors.” “Providence,” murmured Olivia. He inclined his head. “Your father has come to me and extended the right hand of fellowship----” “He was not the first; there was Bertie--I mean Lord Granville,” put in Olivia, softly. “You consented to know him.” “The Cherub?” he said. Then, as Olivia looked up with a start, he colored. “He is called the Cherub, is he not?” “Yes,” she said, perplexedly. “I did not know you knew that.” He nodded. “Yes, I have made the acquaintance of Lord Granville. His _sobriquet_ is pretty well known, I think.” “Every one likes Bertie,” she said. He glanced at her inquiringly, as he assented: