The Squire seemed to rouse himself with an effort. He sat upright, facing them both.
"Does this mean that you wish for advice,—that you will allow me to offer advice?"
"Yes—certainly!"
"Then, if I were you, Winton, I would write by the next post, and refuse consent."
"Unfortunately, I can't. He sends no address, but says he will call in person for his answer, to-morrow or next day."
"He does!—does he?" There was a lightning-flash of indignation, though the Squire still spoke restrainedly. "It would be of no use giving you his Edinburgh address. A letter sent there would not arrive in time."
"You know a good deal about him," Mr. Winton could not help saying. "What about the young fellow himself—his character?"
"There is no particular fault to be found. It is simply a question of his connections. I cannot give you particulars. I can only advise you—urgently—to act with decision."
"He will be here before we can take any steps."
"Apparently so. You will have to make him understand that nothing can come of it. I suppose you will keep this—episode—to yourselves."