"Of course," added I, "there's no one hereabouts that would be good enough for you—unless it might be Mary Thorne, and she is only a manufacturer's daughter. You must have a real lady, of course. You should go and spend a bit of time up in London, and bring back a nice wife with you. Wouldn't it brighten up the country-side!"
I marvel at myself for my boldness; I, scarcely more than a child, as he had said, to a man so much older than myself! But the squire did not seem in the least offended, only he looked very grave.
"You don't approve of people not marrying in what is called their own rank of life, I see," he said presently, with a twinkle of humor in his eye.
"No," said I, gravely; "I agree with father."
"Ah!" said the squire, with the air of a man who is getting proof of something that he has affirmed. "I told Frank so the other day. As a rule, the farmer class consider it just as great a disadvantage to mate with us as we do to mate with them."
I bit my lip. So he did consider it a falling down for a gentleman to marry a farmer's daughter! Well, let him just keep himself to himself, then. But what business had he to go meddling with Frank's opinions? I was very angry with him.
"I think you're quite right," I said, shortly. "They do."
"It takes a very great attachment to bridge over the ditch," said he, meditatively.
There came a time when I remembered those words of his, but at the moment I scarcely noticed them. I thought I heard a footstep on the gravel without, and my fear of being surprised by the master of the house came back stronger than ever, because of the presence of the squire.
"I must be getting home now," said I, hastily. "I'm afraid there's a storm coming up;" and even as I spoke, a deep, low growl echoed round the hills.