“Yes; so it is my business to defend their rights,” observed Mr. Trevor. “I went at once to Bullen, hoping that we might come to some satisfactory arrangement, without having recourse to the lawyers.”
“And I hope that you found the manufacturer open to reason?” said Emmie.
“I found him to be a low, vulgar, money-making man, who would not care if he dyed all the rivers in England scarlet and blue, so that he could fish his profits out of them. I have heard that Bullen gives infidel lectures in S——, so that he tries to poison the springs of knowledge as well as the waters of the brook.”
“What a dreadful man!” exclaimed Emmie.
“I shall have to go to law with him,” observed Mr. Trevor, with a yet more troubled look; “I cannot let my tenants be poisoned, and yet I hate the worry and expense of a suit. I shall wait a while, and see if this fellow Bullen will not come to terms. Then I’ve had another annoying thing brought to my notice this morning: it is certain that there is poaching on my estate. There has been no proper care taken to preserve the game during the time of my predecessor, and if matters go on in the same way, pheasants will be as rare here as black swans. Really the cheapest and easiest way to get game is from a London market!”
The same reflection had just occurred to Emmie. Joe, in his noisy way, now entered the room, and told Miss Trevor, with awkward bluntness, that a woman was asking to see her.
“What is her name?” inquired Emmie.
“She didn’t give none, miss,” said Joe; “but she has brought a lot of children with her.”
“Miss Trevor is engaged; desire the woman to wait a little,” said the master of Myst Court.
Joe went out, banging the door behind him, but in less than three minutes returned.