"Yes--no--yes--no. I'm precious uncomfortable. I see too much," said Pratt. "Well, let's hear what you see that makes you so uncomfortable," said Trevor, carelessly. "Dick, old boy," said Pratt, "you won't be offended with me for what I say?" "Not I," was the answer. "What are you thinking about?" said Pratt, watching the other's face. "I was only thinking about you, and wondering why, if you don't like what you see, you can't close your eyes." "That's what you are doing, Dick!" said Pratt, eagerly. "My dear Frank, have you discovered powder barrels beneath the house--is there a new plot?" "Don't be so foolish, Dick. Why don't you let those two fellows go?" "Because they are my guests, and stay as long as they like." "And are doing their very best to undermine your happiness." "Nonsense, man." "Dick, old fellow, answer me honestly. Don't you care a great deal for that little girl up at Tolcarne?" There was a few moments' pause, during which the colour came into Trevor's cheek. "Honestly, I do," he said at last. "Well, and what of that?" "Well, Dick, are you blind? Van's making all the play that he can, and father and aunt favour him. He's there nearly every day. He's there now." Trevor gave a start, and turned round to face his friend, his lips twitching and fingers working; but he burst out laughing the next moment. "Anything else, Franky?" "Laugh away," said Pratt, who looked nettled--"only give me credit for my warning when you find I am right." "That I will," said Trevor. "Now then, go on! What's the next plot against my peace of mind?" "Suppose I ask you a question or two!" "All right--go on!" "Have you noticed anything wrong with Humphrey?" "Been precious sulky lately." "Sulky! The fellow's looked daggers at you, and has barely answered you civilly." "Well, he has been queer, certainly." "Why is it?" said Pratt. "Bilious--out of order--how should I know?" "The poor fellow's in love!" "Poor Strephon," said Trevor, idly. "And he sees a powerful rival in the path," continued Pratt. "The deuce he does!" said Trevor, laughing. "Is that Van, too? But hang it, Frank!" he cried, starting up, "seriously, I won't stand any nonsense of that kind. If Van's been making love to that little lass, I'll put a stop to it. Why, now I think of it, I did see him looking at her!" "No!" said Pratt, quietly. "It isn't Van--he's too busy at Tolcarne!" "Silence, croaker!" cried, Trevor, laughing in a constrained fashion. "But, come--who is the powerful rival?" "Dick, old fellow, I'm one of those, and no humbug, who have a habit of trying to ferret out other people's motives." "Don't preach, Franky. Is it Flick? because if it is, the girl's laughing at him." "No," said Pratt; "it isn't Flick." "Then who the deuce is it?" "You!" Trevor burst into a hearty laugh. "Why, Frank!" he exclaimed, "if ever there was a mare's-nesting old humbug, it's you. Why, whatever put that in your head?"