“I want you to be serious, Skeffy.” “Very kind of you, when I've only got fourteen days' leave, and three of them gone already.” “I 'd rather you 'd return with me; but I 'd not like you to risk your future to please me.” “Has jealousy no share in this? Be frank and open: 'Crede Darner' is our proud motto; and by Jove, if certain tailors and bootmakers did not accept it, it would be an evil day for your humble servant!” “I don't understand you,” said Tony, gravely. “You fear I 'll make love to 'your widow,' Tony. Don't get so red, old fellow, nor look as if you wanted to throw me into the fish-pond.” “I had half a mind to do it,” muttered Tony, in something between jest and earnest. “I knew it,--I saw it. You looked what the Yankees call mean-ugly; and positively I was afraid of you. But just reflect on the indelible disgrace it would be to you if I was drowned.” “You can swim, I suppose?” “Not a stroke; it's about the only thing I cannot do.” “Why, you told me yesterday that you never shoot, you could n't ride, never handled a fishing-rod.” “Nor hemmed a pocket-handkerchief,” broke in Skeffy. “I own not to have any small accomplishments. What a noble building! I declare I am attached to it already. No, Tony; I pledge you my word of honor, no matter how pressed I may be, I'll not cut down a tree here.” “You may go round to the stable-yard,” said Tony to the driver,--“they 'll feed you and your horse here.” “Of course they will,” cried Skeffy; and then, grasping Tony's two hands, he said, “You are welcome to Tilney, my dear boy; I am heartily glad to see you here.” Tony turned and pulled the bell; the deep summons echoed loudly, and a number of small dogs joined in the uproar at the same time. “There's 'the deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home,'” said Skeffy, while he threw the end of his cigar away. A servant soon appeared and ushered them into a large low-ceilinged room, with fireplaces of antique fashion, the chimney-pieces of dark oak, surmounted by massive coats of arms glowing in all the colors of heraldry. It was eminently comfortable in all its details of fat low ottomans, deep easy-chairs, and squat cushions; and although the three windows which lighted it looked out upon a lawn, the view was bounded by a belt of trees, as though to convey that it was a room in which snugness was to be typified, to the exclusion of all that pretended to elegance. A massive and splendidly bound Bible, showing little signs of use, lay on a centre table; a very well-thumbed “Peerage” was beside it.