“I see,” said the lawyer. “How does he take it?”
“He doesn’t know it.”
“I’m glad he is to leave Plympton. Of course, I could no longer receive him at my house as the intimate companion of my son and daughter, if he is to be a working boy.”
“Certainly not,” said Nathan obsequiously. “Your children have a right to look higher.”
“Of course,” said the lawyer pompously. “While he was an heir to a handsome fortune, it was all very well, but social distinctions must be respected—eh, Mrs. Middleton?”
“You are quite right, I am sure, Squire Davenport,” said Mrs. Middleton. “The boy may be a common laborer or mechanic.”
“To be sure. Well, Mr. Middleton, I thank you for your information. It is well that he is not a few years older, or his evident admiration for Imogene might have led to unfortunate complications.”
“No, doubt,” said Nathan, though remembering the far from flattering terms in which Tom had often spoken of the young lady, he very much doubted whether there was any ground for such an apprehension.
An hour later Squire Davenport bent his steps homeward.
On the way he met Tom, just returning from his own house. Usually he had been very polite and gracious to our hero, but now he walked stiffly by, very slightly inclining his head, to Tom’s decided amazement.