"All right, Mrs. Blades--I've only left some papers!" He snatched them up as he spoke, and crammed them into the pocket of his leather coat. "That's all--now I'm really off." He patted her carelessly on the shoulder as he passed her; but to his surprise she put out a veined hand to stay his progress. "Mr. Owen"--her voice shook--"do you really mean that you're going to marry the young lady?" "Of course, Blades." Unconsciously Owen pulled himself together. "Why should I say such a thing if I did not mean it?" "Because..." the old woman faltered "... Miss Gibbs ain't the sort of lady you ought to marry. She ... she's not like the other lady you were going to bring here as mistress of Greenriver ... the one as was presented at Court with all them lovely feathers in her hair." An expression such as she had never seen before crossed Owen's face. He shook off her hand impatiently. "Oh, you're an old silly, Blades." His voice was grating. "Miss Gibbs is a thousand times more suitable to be the mistress of Greenriver. The--the other lady thought very small beer of us all down here--she wasn't our sort, I assure you!" "Neither is this one." The old woman stuck to her guns with the obstinacy of age. "Mr. Owen, I remember your father bringing home his bride--a girl she was, only eighteen--but the highest lady in the land couldn't have been evened to her. Miss Gibbs is pretty and a good girl, I'm sure, but--but she ain't like your mother, Mr. Owen; and you ought to look higher when you marry than her!" "Don't be a fool, Blades!" Owen spoke angrily now. "If I think Miss Gibbs good enough to be my wife that's quite sufficient for everyone. After all, I'm not such a great catch," he added bitterly. "Nay, Mr. Owen, don't be vexed with me!" Too late the old woman regretted her foolish words. "I'm growing old, and maybe I'm in my dotage ... ah, he's gone--I've driven the lad away with my folly!" It was indeed so. Owen had flung out of the door angrily; and as she listened, half-afraid, she heard his steps receding down the passage towards the hall. There was impatience in his very tread; for, truth to tell, Owen felt a kind of hot anger welling in his heart as he remembered the words she had spoken. At first he was merely annoyed at what he called her presumption--induced, he supposed, by her long connection with the family. But suddenly a feeling of vague uneasiness descended upon him, and he paused before going out to join Toni in the car. "She only saw Toni for a moment--barely heard her speak--and yet she speaks as though I were making an unsuitable marriage." He frowned thoughtfully, anger dying before some feeling whose nature he could not, yet, recognize. "I wonder--what could she mean?"