"Well, but what did I say the other night?"

"I don't know," Margaret answered, coldly. "I never remember the things you say."

But Mr. Garratt was not to be snubbed. "Oh, come now, don't be showing off again," he laughed, and turned to Tom--"Miss Vincent is a difficult young lady, I a.s.sure you," he said, with an air of quite understanding her. "But perhaps you've found that out too."

"How should I have found it out?" Tom asked, stiffly.

"Well, you see, I've heard a few things--no jealousy--that's only a joke," as Margaret started; "you are one of Miss Vincent's London friends, I think? It was you who gave her the roses she brought back.

You see I know all about it." He laughed with satisfaction, and gave Hannah a kick under the table from sheer lightness of heart, and by way of keeping everybody in tow, as he called it to himself.

"We certainly bought some roses in Covent Garden," Tom said, and got up to go. He couldn't stand any more of this chap, he thought.

"I didn't tell you about it, Mr. Garratt," Margaret said, indignantly.

"Oh, don't go, Mr. Carringford."

"I know you didn't tell me," Mr. Garratt said, with a wink. "It was Miss Barton who gave me that little bit of information--you kept it to yourself." Tom had hesitated, but this decided him. Mr. Garratt was not the sort of person with whom he could bring himself to compete.

"Well, good-bye, Mrs. Vincent," he said, shaking hands with her and then with Margaret and Hannah. He nodded to Mr. Garratt, and strode towards the door.

"But you must wait till your horse is brought round," Mrs. Vincent said.

"Hannah, will you tell Sandy or Jim?"

"It is ready," Mr. Garratt volunteered. "I wondered whose it was when I went into the stable just now. I'll take you to it, if you like," he added, graciously, to Tom.

"Pray don't trouble," Tom answered, in an off-hand manner.

"No trouble at all." Mr. Garratt led the way out as if he were the master of the house, while Margaret looked after them and felt as if she were being tortured.

"Fond of a ride?" asked Mr. Garratt as they went along.

"I suppose so," said Tom, distantly.

"I should like to show you the decent little mare I'm riding. I think sometimes I shall get a fellow to it for Margaret. We are both of us fond of the country and getting about." He called her Margaret deliberately, and with an air of custom--for it would be better, he told himself, to choke this Johnnie off as soon as possible.

"Would she like it?"

"Rather! Trust her," with a knowing wink.

"Beast!" thought Tom, as he mounted. "Well, good-evening," he said, aloud, to Mr. Garratt, and went off at a brisk trot, wondering how Margaret could stand him.

"He knows how to give himself airs, too," Mr. Garratt said to himself, looking after him. "I'm rather surprised he didn't offer me a tip while he was about it. I'd like to take down all these chaps and show 'em the way they should go; but we are doing it," he added, thinking not of himself but of his cla.s.s--"and once we've got the upper hand we'll keep it, and let 'em see that we can be swells as well as any one else." He walked slowly back to the house, thinking of Margaret. He was getting up to her ways, and he knew how to keep his temper--and the man who waited won. He liked her, but his feeling was pique, rather than pa.s.sion, and he felt that to subdue her would be a gratification to his vanity greater than any other he could imagine. "And she's such a beauty!"--he always came back to that. "While there's a chance of her, I'd rather be shot than kiss that sour old hen, Hannah. I'll have Margaret if I die for it. I wish I'd thought of it and tried to find out if that chap knew anything about Vincent's relations. I expect he's been up to something, but I don't care--the girl isn't any the worse for it."

During his absence the storm had burst in the living-room, but luckily circ.u.mstances obliged it to be brief.

"I should like to know what you think of yourself now with your slyness and deceit?" Hannah had asked Margaret.

"I'll not have you speak to your sister in this way," Mrs. Vincent began; but her remonstrances had grown ineffectual lately.

"Mr. Garratt told you he was coming, did he, though n.o.body else in the house knew it?" Hannah went on. "You took good care that they shouldn't."

"If he did tell me I had forgotten it," Margaret answered, scornfully.

"You can be trusted to forget anything--if it's convenient. What's this poetry he's brought you, I should like to know?"

"I didn't know he meant to bring it. He said something about Eugene Field's poems the other day, and that he had recited one at a chapel festival."

The mention of the chapel somewhat mollified Hannah without subduing her jealousy. "Well, something will have to be done," she said. "I'm not going to put up with your conduct, and that you shall find out." At which point Mr. Garratt entered a little uneasily, as if conscious that things were not going smoothly. Margaret looked up and spoke to him quickly.

"Mr. Garratt, I want to tell you that if you've brought me a book of poems I would rather not have it."

"Why, what's up now?"

"Nothing is up," she said, with what Mr. Garratt called her high and mighty air.

"Well, look here--" but she had turned away.

"Mother, shall we go into the garden?" she asked.

"It's a little chilly this evening," Mrs. Vincent answered.

"You've taken to feel the cold lately," Hannah said, uneasily. To her credit be it said that she was always careful of her mother's health.

"I've taken to feel my years."

"Let us go into the best parlor, darling," Margaret said, tenderly. "I might play to you for a little while. You always like that," and she put her arms round her mother's shoulders.

Mr. Garratt took a quick step forward. "I should like to hear you play, too, Miss Margaret, if there's no objection. I'm a lover of music, as I think I've told you." He stood by the door of the best parlor and waited.

Margaret turned and faced him. "Stay with Hannah. I want to have my mother to myself," she said.

"Well, that's a nice handful!" Mr. Garratt remarked, as she shut the door and turned the handle with a click.

"You should live in the same house with her," said Hannah, "then you'd know."

"She might have left it a little bit open, at any rate; then we should have heard her."

"Are you as anxious as all that?" asked Hannah, in a sarcastic voice.

"Well, you see, it makes it a bit lively."

"When I was at Petersfield the other day your mother asked me if I would see that the gra.s.s on your Aunt Amelia's grave was clipped. I brought in the small shears, and thought perhaps you might walk over and do it next time you came."

"d.a.m.n my Aunt Amelia's grave!" he said, between his teeth.

"Mr. Garratt, you are forgetting yourself!" she cried, in amazement.

"She's enough to make any one forget anything," he said, nodding towards the best parlor.

"You take far too much notice of her."