“This is less than I looked for from you,” said Stapylton, mournfully.
“I know Dinah so well. I know how hopeless it would be to ask her concurrence to this plan.”
“She may not take the generous view of it; but there is a worldly one worth considering,” said Stapylton, bitterly.
“Then, sir, if you count on that, I would not give a copper half-penny for your chance of success!” cried Barrington, passionately.
“You have quite misconceived me; you have wronged me altogether,” broke in Stapylton, in a tone of apology; for he saw the mistake he had made, and hastened to repair it. “My meaning was this—”
“So much the better. I'm glad I misunderstood you. But here come the ladies. Let us go and meet them.”
“One word,—only one word. Will you befriend me?”
“I will do all that I can,—that is, all that I ought,” said Barrington, as he led him away, and re-entered the cottage.
“I will not meet them to-night,” said Stapylton, hurriedly. “I am nervous and agitated. I will say good-night now.”
This was the second time within a few days that Stapylton had shown an unwillingness to confront Miss Barrington, and Peter thought over it long and anxiously. “What can he mean by it?” said he, to himself. “Why should he be so frank and outspoken with me, and so reserved with her? What can Dinah know of him? What can she suspect, that is not known to me? It is true they never did like each other,—never 'hit it off' together; but that is scarcely his fault. My excellent sister throws away little love on strangers, and opens every fresh acquaintance with a very fortifying prejudice against the newly presented. However it happens,” muttered he, with a sigh, “she is not often wrong, and I am very seldom right;” and, with this reflection, he turned once again to resume his walk in the garden.