"Never mind for the present, Mr. Chattaway. I shall not let you alone until you promise me the farm. There's plenty of time between now and spring."
As he was crossing the hall on his way to the door, he saw Miss Diana Trevlyn, and stopped to shake hands with her. "You have been paying your rent, I suppose," she said.
"My rent and something else," replied George, in high spirits—the removal of that incubus which had so long lain on him had sent them up to fever heat. "I have handed over the last instalment of the debt and interest, Miss Diana, and have the receipt here"—touching his breast-pocket. "I have paid it under protest, as I have always told Mr. Chattaway; for I fully believe Squire Trevlyn cancelled it."
"If I thought my father cancelled it, Mr. Chattaway should never have had my approbation in pressing it," severely spoke Miss Diana. "Is it true that you think of leaving Trevlyn Farm? Rumour says so."
"Quite true. It is time I began life on my own account. I have been asking Mr. Chattaway to let me have the Upland."
"The Upland! You!" There was nothing offensive in Miss Diana's exclamation: it was spoken in simple surprise.
"Why not? I may be thinking of getting a wife; and the Upland is the only farm in the neighbourhood I would take her to."
Miss Diana smiled in answer to his joke, as she thought it. "The house on the Upland Farm is quite a mansion," she returned, keeping up the jest. "Will no lesser one suffice her?"
"No. She is a gentlewoman born and bred, and must live as one."
"George, you speak as if you were in earnest. Are you really thinking of being married?"