"Let bygones be bygones, that's my motto," said the squire, as the gig went swinging out through the white gates near the house, and turned into the road which led through the village.
"And 'all's well that ends well,'" Gilbert said, as he waved his hat in token of farewell.
That evening, when the squire and his wife were alone together, Mrs. Falconer said:
"Did Mr. Arundel say anything to you as he drove into Wells?"
"Say!" exclaimed the squire. "Well, he is not dumb. He said his head ached, for one thing."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Falconer; "he did not say any thing about his heart?"
The squire puffed a little smoke from his long clay pipe; for he indulged in a pipe sometimes, though the amount of tobacco consumed in the present day would have amazed him, and shocked him also, had he known that the greatest smokers were the young men and boys, to whom, sixty years ago, smoking was forbidden. He did not seem inclined to say anything in reply to his wife's last question.
"Because," said Mrs. Falconer, with that far-seeing and oracular wisdom in which men hope in vain to rival us in these matters, at least; "because I believe Gilbert Arundel is in love with our Joyce."
"Well," said the squire, "that would be no wonder to me; but I daresay it is only one of your fancies, Kate."
"We shall see; we shall see," said Mrs. Falconer. "I only hope he has not trifled with my child, and that my 'fancies,' as you call them, are fancies, that is all."