“Were you wanting to speak to John, Mr. Stephen? He’s about the home meadow somewhere, or in the orchard. I can send a boy for him, or perhaps you’d step out.”
“It’s you I came to see, Mrs. Foulton,” the young man said, “and ’pon my word, I don’t like my errand much.”
Mrs. Foulton was visibly anxious.
“There’s no trouble like, I hope, sir?” she began.
“Oh! it’s nothing serious,” he declared reassuringly. “To tell you the truth, it’s about your lodger.”
“About Mr. Macheson, sir!” the woman exclaimed.
“Yes! Do you know how long he was proposing to stay with you?”
“He’s just took the rooms for another week, sir,” she answered, “and a nicer lodger, or one more quiet and regular in his habits, I never had or wish to have. There’s nothing against him, sir—surely?”
“Nothing personal—that I know of,” Hurd answered, tapping his boots with his riding-whip. “The fact of it is, he has offended Miss Thorpe-Hatton, and she wants him out of the place.”