“You ought to know them better, certainly,” said Arthur, with suppressed insolence. “As a race advances in the world it forgets the sentiments of the common stock it sprang from--and we Ardens are a long way off the original root.” “Yes, very true,” said Lord Newmarch, with a little bow, “very much what I was saying. I am going to persuade your brother to make a run up to town with me,” he added, turning to Clare, and rising from his seat--into which Arthur threw himself without loss of time. “Mr. Arden, how could you speak to him so? You were _rude_ to him,” said Clare, the moment they were left alone. “I meant to be,” said Arthur Arden, carelessly. “What right had he, I should like to know, to monopolise you? What right had he to cross his legs, and sit here talking to you all the evening? Besides, it is perfectly true; and why should I be expected to eat humble pie, and loiter at a distance, and see you appropriated? You might have a little pity on your kinsman, Lady Clare.” “My kinsman ought not to be rude,” said Clare. But that was all the punishment she inflicted. Something warped her judgment and blinded her clear eyes. She was not even angry at this piece of incivility, much as she prided herself upon the stateliness of the Arden manners, which Edgar could not acquire. And she sat on the terrace for ever so long after, and let him talk to her, compensating herself for the severity of the morning. And her brother looked on with a grave countenance, wondering much what he could or ought to do. END OF VOL. I. End of Project Gutenberg's Squire Arden; volume 1 of 3, by Margaret Oliphant