Before Tom could answer a dog-cart drove up to the door, and the faces of both ladies flushed and looked confused.
“Whom have we here?” asked John with interest.
“That is my stepson,” replied his mother shortly.
The visitor entered, and was introduced as Mr. William Hunter. John Dallington was kindly disposed, but he did not like his mother’s stepson, who came in with a very free-and-easy air, only removing a big cigar from his mouth to enable him to speak.
“How do, Dallington? Congratulate you, I’m sure. Good morning, mother. How are you, Miss Whitwell? Feel myself fortunate in meeting you.”
The new-comer threw himself into a chair and continued to smoke his cigar. This irritated Dallington, who was not a smoker, and disliked the habit in others. The coolness of the man who could behave so rudely in the presence of ladies annoyed him. “Do you dislike the smoke?” he asked of his cousin.
Mr. Hunter laughed. “Miss Whitwell is probably herself a smoker,” he said. “She is too sensible a lady to set herself against smoking, for that would be to set men against her.”
Tom flushed violently. “It is scarcely worth while to contradict you,” she said.
Mrs. Hunter interposed with some remarks upon the weather; she was extremely anxious that the two young men should be friends, but she had some misgivings, for she could not but know that her son and son-in-law were of very opposite natures, and that their tastes, therefore, were not likely to be the same. John Dallington, however, was too much interested in his cousin to give a second thought to William Hunter. “Will you come into the garden, Tom?” he said. “I have forgotten the names of some of the English flowers, and you must remind me of them.”
“I do so dislike that man,” she said, as soon as they were on the outside of the house. “He is a most unpleasant person, and not good either. Do not have much to do with him, John; and you must remember that you are master, and assert yourself accordingly.”