"Not at all. If I don't take the Upland, I shall take some other equally large. But I should have to go a greater distance, and I don't care to do that. As to being a single man—perhaps that might be remedied if you will let me have the Upland."
He spoke with a laugh; yet Mr. Chattaway detected a serious meaning in the tone, and he gazed hard at George. It may be that his thoughts glanced at his daughter Octave.
There was a long pause. "Are you thinking of marrying?"
"As soon as circumstances will allow me to do so."
"And who is the lady?"
George shook his head; a very decisive shake, in spite of the smile on his lips. "I cannot tell you now; you will know sometime."
"I suppose I shall, if the match ever comes off," returned Chattaway, in a very cross-grained manner. "If it has to wait until you rent the Upland Farm, it may wait indefinitely."
"You will promise me the lease of it, Mr. Chattaway. You cannot think but I shall do the land justice, or be anything but a good tenant."
"I won't promise anything of the sort," was the dogged reply. "I'll promise you, if you like, that you never shall have the lease of it."
And, talk as George would, he could not get him into a more genial frame of mind. At length he rose, good-humoured and gay; as he had been throughout the interview.