“Then you’ve cut out your work,” said Pratt, drily.
“You won’t be with Sir Hampton, sir, you may reckon on that,” said Humphrey. “Lady Rea is a kind, pleasant lady enough, and the young ladies is very nice, sir, and he’s been civil enough to me; but he upsets everybody nearly—him and his sister.”
“Never mind about that,” said Trevor, checking him. “I wish to be on good terms with my neighbours, and if there be any trespass—any annoyance from Sir Hampton’s people—tell me quietly, and I will lay the matter before their master.”
“Or we might get up a good action for trespass,” said Pratt. “But, by the way,” he said, stopping short, and sticking one finger on his forehead, “is this Sir Hampton the chuffy old gentleman we saw at the steeplechase?”
“Yes, sir; and as told me I might get up on the box-seat. That was him, you know, as that blackguard prodded with his stick.”
“Phew!” whistled Pratt. “I say, Dick,” he whispered, “the old chap did not see us under the best of auspices.”
“No; it’s rather vexing,” was the reply.
They walked on from dense copse to meadow, through goodly fields of grain, and down in deep little vales, with steep sides covered with fern, bramble, and stunted pollard oaks.
“Poor youth!” said Pratt, and stopped to mop his forehead. “How low-spirited you must feel to be the owner of such a place. It’s lovely. Nature’s made it very beautiful; but no wonder—see what practice she has had.”
Trevor laughed, and Humphrey smiled, saying—