"No," he said very earnestly, "I won't."
My new gardener was now carrying in the assorted luggage,—bundles and boxes of sorts done up in true peasant fashion with cords.
He seemed to be a sturdy, bright, good-looking young fellow with keen black eyes and a lively cock-sure manner.
"He'll raise jealousies below stairs," remarked Smith. "That young fellow is the beau ideal of all peasant girls. He'll be likely to raise the deuce below stairs with Thusis and Juno."
Somehow or other the idea of such rustic gallantry did not entirely please me. Nor did Smith's reference to Thusis and his cool exclusion of Clelia.
"I don't believe Thusis would care for his type," said I carelessly. "And if he gets too—too——" I hesitated, not exactly knowing what I had meant to say.
"Sure," nodded Smith; "fire him if he bothers Clelia."
I dimly realized then that I didn't care whether he cut up with Clelia or not. In fact, I almost hoped he would.
A little later when I was in my room, alone, and agreeably busy, there sounded a low and very discreet knocking at my door. Instantly my pulse, for some unexplained reason, became loud and irregular.
"Come in," said I, laying aside my work—some verses I had been composing—trifles—trifles.