Still he had the sense of waiting for something, or for some one, and he went home to wait. There he perceived that it was for St. John, who did not keep him waiting long. His nervous ring roused Hewson half an hour after his return, and St. John came in with a look in his greedy eyes which Hewson rightly interpreted at the first glance. “See here, Hewson,” St. John said, with his habitual lack of manners. “I don’t want to get you in for this thing at St. Johnswort. I know why you offered to buy the place, and though of course you are the original cause of the trouble, I don’t feel that it’s quite fair to let you shoulder the consequences altogether.” “Have I been complaining?” Hewson asked, dryly. “No, and that’s just it. You’ve behaved like a little man through it all, and I don’t like to take advantage of you. If you want to rue your bargain, I’ll call it off. I’ve had some fresh light on the matter, and I believe I can let you off without loss to myself. So that if it’s me you’re considering--” “What’s your fresh light?” asked Hewson. “Well,” said St. John, and he swallowed rather hard, as if it were a pill, “the fact is, I’ve had another offer for the place.” “A better one?” “Well, I don’t know that I can say that it is,” answered St. John, saving his conscience in the form of the words. Hewson knew that he was lying, and he had no mercy on him. “Then I believe I’ll stick to my bargain. You say that the other party hasn’t bettered my offer, and so I needn’t withdraw on your account. I’m not bound to withdraw for any other reason.” “No, of course not.” St. John rubbed his chin, as if hesitating to eat his words, however unpalatable; but in the end he seemed not to find it possible. “Well,” he said, disgustedly, as he floundered up to take his leave, “I thought I ought to come and give you the chance.” “It’s very nice of you,” said Hewson, with a smile that made itself a derisive grin in spite of him, and a laugh of triumph when the door had closed upon St. John. XIII.