“Yes, sir.”
Squire Turner walked in, and took a seat without ceremony, as was natural, considering that it was the house of his future wife. Katy went upstairs, and presently Mrs. Raymond, who had changed her dress, came down.
“I thought you were out of town,” she said, trying to speak in her usual manner, but succeeding with difficulty, for she could not help thinking of the squire’s agency in driving Harry from home.
“I returned sooner than I anticipated. By the way, I think I have found a tenant for this cottage.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Squire Turner. I shall probably continue to occupy it myself.”
“How can that be?” demanded the squire, surprised. “As my wife, you will, of course, live in my house.”
“I shall not become your wife. I have changed my mind.”
“What does this mean?” he demanded, angrily. “Why do you trifle with me thus?”
“I am afraid, Squire Turner, you have not been so much my friend as I supposed.”
“In what respect have I failed to act as your friend?”