Bertie shook his head.
“I did think once—that is, I have thought of her always, and while I was away I sometimes plucked up heart, don’t you know, to fancy that I might have a chance. But now I’ve seen how beautiful and queenly and altogether too good for me——” He stopped with a sigh. “Besides, there is some one else in the field,” he added, ruefully.
“Yes?” Faradeane looked at him inquiringly.
“Yes,” said Bertie. “There is a fellow there—confound him! I fancy he is always at the Grange—a man named Bradstone. He has built that huge furnace, The Maples.”
Faradeane nodded.
“I know. He is a financier, or something of that kind. I have heard of him. But surely Miss Vanley——”
“No,” said Bertie, promptly, but with a troubled look. “No, I don’t think that Olivia cares for him, or is even very friendly; but”—he paused—“but the fellow is very much at home there, and the squire seems to have taken to him.”
“I see,” said Faradeane; “but keep your heart up. From the glimpse I got of Miss Vanley’s face I don’t think she is the girl to be smitten by Mr. Bradstone. No!” and a grave smile flickered across his face as he looked dreamily through the window. “No, I don’t think you need be apprehensive in that quarter, Cherub. If there is any truth in a woman’s eyes, Miss Vanley has a soul above the reach of such a man as this Bradstone.”
Bertie laid his hand upon his arm and pressed it gratefully.
“This is just like you, old fellow!” he said. “You understand at once, and—and always know how to sympathize and encourage a man. Thank you! Thank you! Ah, I wish you would know her,” he added, wistfully.