The squire looked disappointed.
“I thought your father would have spared you to-night, my boy,” he said. “But come over to us to-morrow, then,” he added, as he shook his hand.
Bertie lingered a moment or two beside Olivia, after the squire had gone up the steps.
“What do you think of Mr. Bradstone, Olivia?” he said, in a low voice.
Olivia smiled faintly; then her brows contracted.
“Exactly as you do,” she replied, and held out her hand.
Bertie took it and held it.
“Yes? Then why on earth does the squire have him here, and—and—praise him, and all that?” he asked. “I never knew him make excuses for a cad before.”
Olivia looked straight before her.
“I give it up,” she said; “ask me another.”