“Except for the rich,” said Tony, with an almost savage energy. “They certainly have fine times of it. I saw that fellow, Maitland, about an hour ago, lolling beside Alice Lyle--Trafford, I mean, in her carriage, as if he owned the equipage and all it contained; and why? Just because he is rich.” “He's a fine handsome man, Tony, and has fine manners, and I would not call him a fellow.” “I would, then; and if he only gives me the chance, I 'll call him a harder name to his face.” “Tony, Tony, how can you speak so of one that wanted to befriend you?” “Befriend me, mother! You make me ashamed to bear you say such a word. Befriend me!” “What's the matter with you, Tony? You are not talking, no, nor looking like yourself. What's befallen you, my dear Tony? You went out this morning so gay and light-hearted, it made me cheery to see you. Ay, and I did what I 've not done for many a day, I sang to myself over my work without knowing it, and now you 're come back as dark as night. What's in it, my boy? tell your poor old mother. What's in it?” “There's nothing in it, my own little mother, except that I'm a good-for-nothing, discontented dog, that sees himself in a very shabby condition without having the pluck to try and get out of it. I say, mother, when are we to begin our lessons? That confounded river Danube goes between me and my rest. Whether it rises in the Black Sea or the Black Forest is just as great a puzzle to me as whether the word is spelt 'peo' or 'poe' in 'people.'” “Oh, Tony!” “It's all very well saying, 'Oh, Tony;' but I tell you, mother, a stupid fellow ought never to be told two ways for anything: never say to him, you can do it in this fashion or in that; but, there's the road straight before you; take care you never go off it.” “Mr. Maitland made that same remark to me last week.” “Then don't tell it to me, for I hate him. By the way, there's that gun of his. I forgot to take it back to Lyle Abbey. I think it was precious cool in him to suppose a stranger--a perfect stranger, as I am--would accept a present from him.” “If you are going to the Abbey, Tony, I wish you 'd leave these books there, and thank my Lady for all her kind attentions to me; and say a word to Sir Arthur, too, to excuse my not seeing him when he called. Tell Gregg, the gardener, not to send me any more vegetables now; it's the scarce season, and they 'll be wanting them for themselves; and if you should chance to see Mr. Lockyer, the steward, just mention to him that the new sluice is just no good at all, and when the rain comes heavy, and the mill is not working, the water comes up to the kitchen door. Are you minding me, Tony?” “I 'm not sure that I am,” said he, moodily, as he stood examining the lock of the well-finished rifle. “I was to tell Lady Lyle something about cabbages or the mill-race,--which was it?” “You are not to make a fool of yourself, Tony,” said she, half vexed and half amused. “I 'll keep my message for another day.”