ired of her! I see. Perhaps it won't be too far,
then."

"Tired of her! who do you mean?"

"Ha, ha!" said Mr. Wurley, looking up from the table over which
he was leaning, for he went on knocking the balls about;
"devilish well acted! But you needn't try to come the old soldier
over me. I'm not quite such a fool as that."

"I don't know what you mean by coming the old soldier. I only
asked you to let the cottage, and I will be responsible for the
rent. I'll pay in advance if you like."

"Yes, you want me to let the cottage for you to put in this
girl?"

"I beg your pardon," said Tom, interrupting him, and scarcely
able to keep his temper; "I told you it was for this young
Winburn."

"Of course you told me so. Ha, ha!"

"And you don't believe me."

"Come, now, all's fair in love and war. But, I tell you, you
needn't be mealy-mouthed with me. You don't mind his living
there; he's away at work all day, eh? and his wife stays at
home."

"Mr. Wurley, I give you my honor I never saw the girl in my life
that I know of, and I don't know that she will marry him."

"What did you talk about your friend for, then?" said Mr. Wurley,
stopping and staring at Tom, curiosity beginning to mingle with
his look of cunning unbelief.

"Because I meant just what I said."

"And the friend, then?"

"I have told you several times that this young Winburn is the
man."

"What, _your friend_?"

"Yes, my friend," said; Tom; and he felt himself getting red at
having to call Harry his friend in such company. Mr. Wurley
looked at him for a few moments, and then took his leg off the
billiard table, and came round to Tom with the sort of
patronizing air with which he had lectured him on billiards.

"I say, Brown, I'll give you a piece of advice," he said. "You're
a young fellow, and haven't seen anything of the world. Oxford's
all very well, but it isn't the world. Now I tell you, a young
fellow can't do himself greater harm than getting into low
company and talking as you have been talking. It might ruin you
in the county. That sort of radical stuff won't do, you know,
calling a farm laborer your friend."

Tom chafed at this advice from a man who, he well knew, was
notoriously in the habit of entertaining at his house, and living
familiarly with, betting men and trainers, and all the riff-raff
of the turf. But he restrained himself by a considerable effort,
and, instead of retorting, as he felt inclined to do, said, with
an att