"A good resolution. Why did you not offer me the Farm? I would have given you a better price for it."
"Because, to tell you the truth, I was ashamed to."
"You ought to have come to me, Warren," said the Squire, kindly, as he placed one hand on his shoulder. "I gave you Irene, and you ought to trust me. She was confided to my care by my old friend, Carstone, and I do not want to think I have made a mistake in placing her happiness in your hands. You do not look easy in your mind, or happy. If you are in any difficulty tell me, and I will do all in my power to help you for her sake and your own."
These words struck the right chord in Warren Courtly, but he had not the courage to confess what he had done.
"I am upset over selling Holme Farm," he replied, "but there is nothing else, except the barefaced audacity of such a man as Felix Hoffman writing to Irene."
"You know the man?"
"Yes, and I told her he was a scoundrel. He shall feel my stick across his shoulders the next time we meet."
"Better to have no scenes," said the Squire. "Avoid him in the future, but give him to understand there must be no more letters written, or he will be handed over to the police."
"That will probably be the best way. I met him casually at Hurst Park, and he gave me some very good information."
"And on the strength of that," said the Squire, "I suppose he has stuck to you like a leech. I know these men, they ought to be ducked in a horsepond, they are pestilential nuisances, but unfortunately there is no way of killing them off."