A Perilous Secret Part 11
"Mr. Hope," said she, in a resolute sort of way.
"My dear," said he, eagerly.
"YOU LOVE ME BETTER THAN PAPA DOES, THAT'S ALL."
And having administered this information as a dry fact that might be worth looking into at leisure, she pa.s.sed thoughtfully into the house.
CHAPTER VI.
SHARP PRACTICE.
Hope paid a visit to his native place in Derbyshire, and his poor relations shared his prosperity, and blessed him, and Mr. Bartley upon his report; for Hope was one of those choice spirits who praise the bridge that carries them safe over the stream of adversity.
He returned to Suss.e.x with all the news, and, amongst the rest, that Colonel Clifford had a farm coming vacant. Walter Clifford had insisted on a higher rent at the conclusion of the term, but the tenant had demurred.
Bartley paid little attention at the time; but by-and-by he said, "Did you not see signs of coal on Colonel Clifford's property?"
"That I did, and on this very farm, and told him so. But he is behind the age. I have no patience with him. Take one of those old iron ramrods that used to load the old musket, and cover that ramrod with prejudices a foot and a half deep, and there you have Colonel Clifford."
"Well, but a tenant would not be bound by his prejudices."
"A tenant! A tenant takes no right to mine, under a farm lease; he would have to propose a special contract, or to ask leave, and Colonel Clifford would never grant it."
There the conversation dropped. But the matter rankled in Bartley's mind.
Without saying any more to Hope, he consulted a sharp attorney.
The result was that he took Mary Bartley with him into Derbyshire.
He put up at a little inn, and called at Clifford Hall.
He found Colonel Clifford at home, and was received stiffly, but graciously. He gave Colonel Clifford to understand that he had left business.
"All the better," said Colonel Clifford, sharply.
"And taken to farming."
"Ugh!" said the other, with his favorite snort.
At this moment, who should walk into the room but Walter Clifford.
Bartley started and stared. Walter started and stared.
"Mr. Bolton," said Bartley, scarcely above a whisper.
But Colonel Clifford heard it, and said, brusquely: "Bolton! No. Why, this is Walter Clifford, my son, and my man of business.--Walter, this is Mr. Bartley."
"Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said the astute Bartley, ignoring the past.
Walter was glad he took this line before Colonel Clifford: not that he forgave Mr. Bartley that old affront the reader knows of.
The judicious Bartley read his face, and, as a first step toward propitiation, introduced him to his daughter. Walter was amazed at her beauty and grace, coming from such a stock. He welcomed her courteously, but shyly. She replied with rare affability, and that entire absence of mock-modesty which was already a feature in her character. To be sure, she was little more than fifteen, though she was full grown, and looked nearer twenty.
Bartley began to feel his way with Colonel Clifford about the farm. He told him he was pretty successful in agriculture, thanks to the a.s.sistance of an experienced friend, and then he said, half carelessly, "By-the-bye, they tell me you have one to let. Is that so?"
"Walter," said Colonel Clifford, "have you a farm to let?"
"Not at present, sir; but one will be vacant in a month, unless the present tenant consents to pay thirty per cent. more than he has done."
"Might I see that farm, Mr. Walter?" asked Bartley.
"Certainly," said Walter; "I shall be happy to show you over it." Then he turned to Mary. "I am afraid it would be no compliment to you. Ladies are not interested in farms."
"Oh, but _I_ am, since papa is, and Mr. Hope: and then on _our_ farm there are so many dear little young things: little calves, little lambs, and little pigs. Little pigs are ducks--_very_ little ones, I mean; and there is nearly always a young colt about, that eats out of my hand. Not like a farm? The idea!"
"Then I will show you all over ours, you and your papa," said Walter, warmly. He then asked Mr. Bartley where he was to be found; and when Bartley told him at the "Dun Cow," he looked at Mary and said, "Oh!"
Mary understood in a moment, and laughed and said: "We are very comfortable, I a.s.sure you. We have the parlor all to ourselves, and there are samplers hung up, and oh! such funny pictures, and the landlady is beginning to spoil me already."
"n.o.body can spoil you, Mary," said Mr. Bartley.
"You ought to know, papa, for you have been trying a good many years."
"Not very many, Miss Bartley," said Colonel Clifford, graciously. Then he gave half a start and said: "Here am I calling her miss when she is my own niece, and, now I think of it, she can't be half as old as she looks.
I remember the very day she was born. My dear, you are an impostor."
Bartley changed color at this chance shaft. But Colonel Clifford explained:
"You pa.s.s for twenty, and you can't be more than--Let me see."
"I am fifteen and four months," said Mary, "and I do take people in--_cruelly_."
"Well," said Colonel Clifford, "you see you can't take me in. I know your date. So come and give your old ruffian of an uncle a kiss."
"That I will," cried Mary, and flew at Colonel Clifford, and flung both arms round his neck and kissed him. "Oh, papa," said she, "I have got an uncle now. A hero, too; and me that is so fond of heroes! Only this is my first--out of books."
"Mary, my dear," said Bartley, "you are too impetuous. Please excuse her, Colonel Clifford. Now, my dear, shake hands with your cousin, for we must be going."
Mary complied; but not at all impetuously. She lowered her long lashes, and put out her hand timidly, and said, "Good-by, Cousin Walter."
He held her hand a moment, and that made her color directly. "You will come over the farm. Can you ride? Have you your habit?"
"No, cousin; but never mind that. I can put on a long skirt."
"A skirt! But, after all, it does not matter a straw what _you_ wear."