Suddenly it struck me, Had this little diffidence been so wrought through with passion as to have dared, on short acquaintance, the most audacious throw a man can stake his all on? If it were so, it would seem that fortune had favoured the bold, for the couple appeared to be already on terms as happy as familiar. And why not? Johnny was no nameless, penniless bastard; but a lord of acres, with a stake in the land and a right to sue to honour. He was my friend, moreover, and not to be grudged by me any such triumph. I trusted, I saw no reason to doubt, that they would prove an excellent match; and, in the midst of that very Christian reflection, was planning how to get rid of the little man with all possible despatch. Why? _Il y a quelque chose qui couve_, says a French idiom. Now all in a moment I realised that I was in a measure spying--a trick grown obnoxious to me. I turned from the window, and went resolutely out into the open. They saw me at once, and Johnny hurried up with his greeting, and a rather shameful face, I thought. “I was coming to see you, and met Miss Christmas in the grounds,” he said. “We supposed you were still away, old fellow, as there was no sign of your moving in there.” “Why should there be at this hour?” “This hour? Don’t you know it’s near midday?” “No, by the Lord--is it! What a sleep I’ve had.” I turned to Miss Christmas. “Did you want me for anything?” I asked. “No,” she said, in one hard little icicle of a word. She turned to Johnny, and the sunlight broke on her face. “I must go back now,” she said, “but I daresay we shall meet again.” I went to her as she turned, and spoke low in her ear--two words, “I’m sorry.” She appeared to start; but she gathered her skirts up, and went off through the woods, without an acknowledgment of any sort. I took Johnny’s arm persuasively, as we walked back to the lodge together. “Am I to congratulate you, old man?” He flushed to fire. “Don’t bait me, Dick. I--I don’t think I can bear it. If a year’s devotion would win me just the permission to kiss her little hand.” “No more than that?” “No more. What right have _I_ to dream of such a thing!” He was so obviously moved that I had not the heart to banter him, if I had the inclination. I don’t know about that. I felt of a sudden some sympathy with his diffidence, and all on my own account. What right had he, certainly? Material fortune was not to stand for everything in this world. I was in no mind to let it in my misanthropy; in no mood, with my new sense of independence, to allow myself to be relegated to the ranks of the of-no-accounts. I could still be a dog in the manger, it seemed. And yet my heart was soft with a superior affection for this old chum of mine. “Johnny,” I said, as I laid and lit the fire, “are you still in the mind to help me?” “Am I _not_!” he answered. “Only tell me how.” I turned round, inspired, with the match in my hand. “Watch old Pugsley.” He gave a chirp. “The parson?”