"I must be off now," he added. "I ought to have gone long ago. We'll talk it over again another time."
"Oh, won't you stay and have a bit of dinner with us, squire?" cried mother, in a disappointed voice. "It's just coming in. I know it's not what you have at home, but it is a fine piece of roast beef to-day."
"Fie, fie, Mrs. Maliphant! don't you be so modest," said the squire, with his genial smile, buttoning up his overcoat as he spoke.
He always had a gay, easy manner towards the mother—something, I used to fancy, like what her own younger brother might have had towards her, or even her own son, although at that time I should have thought it impossible for a man as old to be mother's son at all. I suppose it was in consequence of that sad time in the past that he had grown to love her as I know he did.
"I don't often get a dinner such as I get at your table," added he; "but I can't stay to-day, for I'm due at home."
Just the words that young man had used at the foot of the village street. I was determined to find out before the squire left whether that young man was staying at the Manor or not.
"Perhaps Mr. Broderick has visitors, mother," I suggested.
I glanced at Joyce as I spoke. Her cheeks were poppies.
"What makes you think so?" asked the squire, turning to me and frowning a little.