“Harry’s no fool,” replied his son, moved to speech by this.
“I’m not so sure, with this senseless business about Miss Ridgeway. It’s all nonsense, I know,” said the Squire, who was apt to treat things he disliked as if they had not occurred, “but he came bothering me about it a couple of days ago. I told him I hadn’t time to talk to him, and I haven’t said a word to your mother yet. I suppose you know all about it?”
“I thought it might happen,” admitted Llewellyn.
“Then you should have told me,” said Mr. Fenton, with that forgetfulness of the unwritten code of youth which comes to so many when they have left it behind. “You and Harry give me more trouble in a year than Tom and Bob have in all their lives.”
For a man of recognized good character the Squire told a wonderful number of untruths.
His son smiled, but not obviously.
“Surely this niece can look after him,” he continued, looking down at Howlie.
Llewellyn shook his head; his trust in Isoline was small. He had sat up many nights with sick cows and horses and he knew what it was like.
“And why not, pray?”