"Wal, squire?" he said again.
"Laurence Thorndyke is no fit, no safe companion for your niece. He is not a good man, he is as false as he is fascinating. She is only seventeen, she knows nothing of the world, nothing of such men as he, and believe me, Kent, it won't do."
Reuben Kent looked up, a sudden flash in his eye, a sudden redness in his face.
"Go on," he said, curtly.
"I am afraid Miss Bourdon cares more for him already than—" He paused again and averted his face. "You know what I mean. He is handsome, and she is only a girl. She will grow to love him, and he could not marry her if he would, he is already engaged, and unless I mistake him greatly, would not if he could. Mr. Kent, this young man will go away, and Norine will be neither the better nor the happier for his coming."
His voice was husky. Something of the pain he felt was in his face. The farmer stretched forth and caught the lawyer's hand in a hard grip.
"Thanky, squire," he said; "I ain't a man to jaw much, but I believe you, and am obliged to you for this. If that young jacknapes from York tries to come any of his city games down here, by the Lord Jehosaphat! I'll lay him up with something worse than a broken arm!"
"Can you not avert the danger?" suggested Mr. Gilbert. "It may not be too late. Send the fellow away."
"Wal, squire, you see that mightn't be doing the square thing by him. It would look unpleasantly like turning him out. No, I can't send him away until the doctor says he's fit to go, but, by ginger, I'll send her!"
"Will she go?"