“Why, you’ve—yes, you’ve actually grown,” said the squire.
“Oh, come now!” remonstrated Bertie, laughing and blushing. “That’s rather too thin, even for me, squire.”
“But you have. How glad I am to see you! And your father—is he well?” As he turned he caught sight of Mr. Bartley Bradstone, who was standing looking at them with a half-sullen, half-jealous air, and the smile vanished from the squire’s face. “I beg your pardon,” he said; “let me introduce you to our neighbor and friend, Mr. Bradstone. This is Lord Granville, our old friend Bertie, Bradstone.”
The two men exchanged bows; Bertie with a pleasant frankness and cordiality, Bartley Bradstone with hardly suppressed sullenness.
“I was going to call on you to-morrow, Mr. Bradstone,” said Bertie. “I am happy to make your acquaintance. My father tells me that you have gone in very heavily for preserving. By George! it was time some one did, for, begging the squire’s pardon, pheasants and partridges in Hawkwood were getting very rare birds, indeed!” and he nodded with much gravity at Mr. Vanley.
“Oh, yes,” said Bartley Bradstone, with an affected drawl. “I’m going to preserve; it’s the duty of every country gentleman, I take it.”
Bertie looked at him quickly, and a shade of disapproval swept over his handsome, girlish face. Bartley Bradstone’s voice was that of the cad, and of course Bertie detected it.
“The squire hasn’t preserved as closely as he might have done,” he said, rather gravely for him, “because he is too tender-hearted to the village people.”
“The village people will find me a very different kind of customer if they come poaching on my land, my lord,” retorted Bartley Bradstone.
Now, a gentleman, though he be a commoner, does not address a nobleman, to whom he has been introduced on equal terms, as “my lord,” and this time Bertie glanced coldly at the new neighbor, and, apparently now quite satisfied, turned from him to the squire and talked with him.