“And it seems to me,” interrupted Mr. Cray, “that I know just the young fellow to do it—nephew of my wife's. He was coming to stay a fortnight with us, but you can have him with pleasure—me and him don't get on over and above well.”
“Perhaps he wouldn't do it,” objected the farmer.
“He'd do it like a shot,” said Mr. Cray, positively. “It would be fun for us and it 'ud be a lesson for her. If you like, I'll tell him to write to you for lodgings, as he wants to come for a fortnight's fresh air after the fatiguing gayeties of town.”
“Fatiguing gayeties of town,” repeated the admiring farmer. “Fatiguing—”
He sat back in his chair and laughed, and Mr. Cray, delighted at the prospect of getting rid so easily of a tiresome guest, laughed too. Overhead at the open window a third person laughed, but in so quiet and well-bred a fashion that neither of them heard her.
The farmer received a letter a day or two afterwards, and negotiations between Jane Rose on the one side and Lord Fairmount on the other were soon in progress; the farmer's own composition being deemed somewhat crude for such a correspondence.
“I wish he didn't want it kept so secret,” said Miss Rose, pondering over the final letter. “I should like to let the Crays and one or two more people know he is staying with us. However, I suppose he must have his own way.”
“You must do as he wishes,” said her father, using his handkerchief violently.
Jane sighed. “He'll be a little company for me, at any rate,” she remarked. “What is the matter, father?”
“Bit of a cold,” said the farmer, indistinctly, as he made for the door, still holding his handkerchief to his face. “Been coming on some time.”