The Master of Greylands: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Ah no, sir, that I don't," she said. "You've long grown beyond that, and out of my control."

"Out of everybody else's too," he laughed. "Where I used to get cuffs I now get kisses, Mrs. Bent. And I am not sure but they are the more dangerous application of the two."

"I am very sure they are," called out Mrs. Bent, as the young man went off laughing, after bowing slightly to the stranger, who was now standing up, and whose appearance bespoke him to be a gentleman.

"Who was that?" asked the stranger of John Bent.

"That was Mr. Harry Castlemaine, sir. Son of the Master of Greylands."

With one leap, the stranger was outside the door, gazing after him. But Harry Castlemaine, quick and active, was already nearly beyond view. When the stranger came back to his place again, Mrs. Bent had locked up her cupboard and was gone.

"A fine-looking young man," he remarked.

"And a good-hearted one as ever lived--though he is a bit random," said John. "I like Mr. Harry; I don't like his father."

"Why not?"

"Well, sir, I hardly know why. One is apt to take dislikes sometimes."