"Have you an idea as to who will be the next master of this estate?" "Yes, sir." "Do you wish to continue on it?" "That's as it may be, sir." These questions have been asked with a perfect consciousness of the subject which the gardener's son wishes to approach, and have been so worded as to have an indirect bearing upon it. The answer to the last, spoken with manly independence, conveys to Mr. Temple the knowledge that the gardener's son is not ignorant of their bearing, and the tone in which it is given, although perfectly respectful, does not please him. "I must request you," he says, with a masterful wave of his hand, "to choose some other time for your confidence." "You expect some one, perhaps, sir." Mr. Temple smiles complacently. In the few words that have passed, the battle has been fairly opened. He determines that it shall be short. "As you seem resolved," he says, taking out his watch and consulting it, "to force yourself upon me, I will give you just five minutes. Now, what have you to say?" He is aware that he is taking the young fellow at a disadvantage by his abrupt method; but, being a lawyer, he is not nice as to the means of gaining an advantage. "It is about Miss Marston," says the gardener's son, after a slight pause. "What of that young lady?" "I don't know whether I have a right to speak----" "That is candid of you." The arrow misses its mark. "But it may be," proceeds the young fellow, "that I have, for the reason that I love her." His voice trembles, but his earnestness imparts power to it. "I am obliged to you for your confidence," observes Mr. Temple, watching for Nelly Marston as he speaks, "unsolicited as it is. A pretty young lady generally inspires that passion in many breasts." "But not in all alike," quickly retorts the gardener's son. "That is fair philosophy. Proceed." "You speak lightly, sir, while I am serous. It stands in this way, sir. People are beginning to talk----" "People _will_ talk," interrupts Mr. Temple, with malicious relish; "as in the present instance." "And Miss Marston's name and yours have got mixed up together in a manner it would grieve her to know." "You forget, in the first place," says Mr. Temple haughtily, with an ominous frown on his face, "that Miss Marston is a lady; and in the second, you forget to whom you are speaking." "Truly I am not thinking of you, sir," replies the gardener's son quietly and simply, "I am thinking of her. A young lady's good name is not a thing to be lightly played with."