When I went into the parlor again the groups were all changed. Father stood by the fire and the squire had risen. Father had his hands crossed behind his back and his sarcastic expression on, and the squire was talking loudly. Joyce was laying the cloth, and mother stood by the window where sister had stood before; Captain Forrester was talking to her as if he had never cared to do anything else. I could not hear what they were saying, the squire's voice was too loud; but I could see that mother was quite civil.
"I never liked that man Hoad," the squire was saying, and I felt a throb of satisfaction as I heard him. "I don't believe he's straightforward. Do anything for money, that's my feeling."
"He's a friend of mine," said father, stiffly.
"Oh, well, of course, if he's a friend of yours, well and good," answered Mr. Broderick, shortly. "You probably know him better than I do. But I don't like him. I should never be able to trust him."
"Perhaps that is because you do not know him," suggested father.
"No doubt, no doubt," answered the squire.
"I hear he has turned Radical now," added he, coming to the real core of the grievance. "He used to call himself a Liberal, but now I hear he calls himself a Radical, and is going to put up some Radical candidate to oppose us."
"Yes, I know," answered father, too honest to deny the charge.
"Oh, do you know who it is?" asked the squire, sharply.