His way was for a couple of hundred yards toward the pretty villa known as the bailiff’s cottage, and he had not gone half that distance when a sudden pang shot through him. For the place stood high, and he caught sight of two figures in the garden, one that of a man, the other that of some one in white muslin and a straw hat, coming toward the gate. The next minute the man was in the road, and half a minute later he was standing talking to Mrs Mostyn’s agent, while the white muslin that had been so plainly seen amongst the shrubs had disappeared into the cottage.
John Grange’s face grew dark with a look of despair, and he did not go off into the woods.
Dan Barnett, up there at the cottage talking to Mary, while he had been speaking to her father, and she had come down to the gate with her visitor.
Something very like a groan escaped the young man’s lips as he crossed the road to lean his arms upon the gate, and looked over into the park, feeling more miserable than ever before in his life.
“I’m a poor, weak fool,” he thought. “He’s good-looking, and knows the way to a girl’s heart. Better keep to my nailing and pruning. One from the father, two from Dan Barnett. Regular knock-down blows. Better get up again, go to work and forget it all—if I can.”
“Nice evening, John Grange. Drop o’ rain coming?”
“Eh? Yes, I think so, Tummus,” said the young man, turning to the dry, quaint old fellow who had spoken, and who now screwed up the bark on his face—it more resembled that than skin—showed three or four ancient, yellow teeth, and jerked his right thumb over his shoulder.
“I say—see that? Young Dan Barnett going courtin’, and now having it out with Miss Mary’s dad. You mark my words, Mr John, sir, if poor old Dunton dies, and Dan Barnett steps into his shoes, there’ll be a wedding yonder.”
“Think so, Tummus?” said John Grange, with a forced smile.
“Aye, that’s what I think, sir,” said the old man, and then showing his gums as well as his teeth, he continued, “and I thinks this ’ere too—that if I’d been a young, good-looking chap like some one I know, I wouldn’t ha’ let Dan Barnett shoulder me out, and stand in first with the prettiest and best young lady in these parts. Evening!”