“My dear fellow, I honour your scruples; but I assure you they are misplaced in this instance. They are, really. Besides, I have your promise, and I’m going to hold you to it. It isn’t as though I were going to run away with the girl, and marry her against her own wish and the wishes of her combined relatives. If I wanted to see the girl against her father’s will--well, then there might be something to urge in opposition to my project; but I’m not,--and don’t you see that fact makes all the difference in the world? Of course you do. Why, a man ought to do anything for the girl he loves, and he’s a poltroon if he doesn’t. That’s why I’m taking all this trouble and staying in this town of the forlorn. If a girl doesn’t find you taking some little trouble in order to see her, why she is not going to think very much or often about you; take my word for that.” “I believe you are right. I’ll go.” “You’re a brick, Marsten! yes, my boy, a brick!” cried Barney, enthusiastically, slapping his comrade on the shoulder. “A brick of very common clay, I’m afraid, Mr. Hope. I suppose you believe in the saying, ‘All’s fair in love’?” “Of course I do, dear boy; it is the maxim on which I regulate my daily life.” “Very well. I will not take a verbal message, for I may not have an opportunity to deliver it; besides, I might forget something, or give it a misleading twist. If you will write exactly what you want Miss Sartwell to know, and give it to me as a letter, I will deliver it if there is the slightest chance of my doing so.” “Right you are, old man! Now come with me, and I’ll introduce you to the gardener person, and see if he has a blouse that will fit you.” CHAPTER XXIV. In the morning Barney took Marsten to the house of the friendly gardener, whose good will had been secured through the corrupting influences of wealth, and there the young man donned the blouse that was supposed to give him that horticultural air necessary for the part he had to play. Marsten was very serious about it; but Barney seemed to enjoy the masquerade to the utmost, and wanted to take the amateur gardener to be photographed, so that there might be a picture as a memento of the occasion. At last Marsten got away, with the broom on his shoulder, and, presenting himself at High Cliff grounds, was admitted without question. He made no attempt to conceal from himself the fact that he did not like the fraud he was about to practise, but when his conscience upbraided him, he asked of it what better plan it had to propose, and to this there was no reply.