b.

"Heard all about Penreife," continued Pratt, talking in a careless,
matter-of-fact way. "Our friend Humphrey is being courted, it seems, by
everybody. Half the county been to call upon him, and congratulate him
on his rise. I expected to find the fellow off his head when I saw him;
but he was just the same--begged me to condescend to come and stay with
him, which of course I didn't, and as good as told me he was horribly
bored, and anything but happy."

There was a pause here, filled up by smoking.

"The old people are still there, and they say the new owner's very kind
to them; but our little friend Polly's away at a good school, where she
is to stay till the wedding. Humphrey wants to see you."

Richard winced.

"Asked me to try and bring about a meeting, and sent all sorts of kind
messages."

Richard remained silent.

"Says he feels like as if he had deprived you of your birthright; and as
for the people about, they say, Dick,"--Pratt paused for a few moments
to light his pipe afresh--"they say, Dick, that you acted like a fool."

Richard faced round quietly, and looked straight at his friend.

"Do you think, Frank, that I acted like a fool?"

Pratt smoked for a moment or two, then he turned one of his fingers into
a tobacco stopper, and lastly removed his pipe.

"Well, speaking as counsel, whose opinion is that you ought to have
waited, and left the matter to the law to sift, I say yes."

"But speaking as my old friend, Frank Pratt," said Richard, "and as an
honest man?"

"Well, we won't discuss that," said Frank, hopping off his perch.
"Good-bye, old chap."

He shook hands hastily, and left the house, glancing up once at Sam
Jenkles's upper window, and then, without appearing to notice him,
taking a side glance at Barney of the black muzzle, who was making a
meal off a scrap of hay, with his shoulders lending polish to a
public-house board at the corner.

"There's some little game being played up here," said Frank to himself.
"I'll have a talk to Barnard."

Volume 3, Chapter VIII.

A PROPOSAL.

Frank Pratt had no sooner gone than Richard began to stride hastily up
and down the little room, to the great endangering of Mrs Fiddison's
furniture. As he neared the window he glanced across, to see Netta
sitting there at work, and a faint smile and blush greeted him.

"Poor girl," he muttered. "But, no, it's nonsense. She can't think it.
Absurd! She's so young--so ill. There, it's chi