is prejudices."

"A tenant! A tenant takes no right to mine, under a farm lease; he would
have to propose a special contract, or to ask leave, and Colonel Clifford
would never grant it."

There the conversation dropped. But the matter rankled in Bartley's mind.
Without saying any more to Hope, he consulted a sharp attorney.

The result was that he took Mary Bartley with him into Derbyshire.

He put up at a little inn, and called at Clifford Hall.

He found Colonel Clifford at home, and was received stiffly, but
graciously. He gave Colonel Clifford to understand that he had
left business.

"All the better," said Colonel Clifford, sharply.

"And taken to farming."

"Ugh!" said the other, with his favorite snort.

At this moment, who should walk into the room but Walter Clifford.

Bartley started and stared. Walter started and stared.

"Mr. Bolton," said Bartley, scarcely above a whisper.

But Colonel Clifford heard it, and said, brusquely: "Bolton! No. Why,
this is Walter Clifford, my son, and my man of business.--Walter, this is
Mr. Bartley."

"Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said the astute Bartley,
ignoring the past.

Walter was glad he took this line before Colonel Clifford: not that he
forgave Mr. Bartley that old affront the reader knows of.

The judicious Bartley read his face, and, as a first step toward
propitiation, introduced him to his daughter. Walter was amazed at her
beauty and grace, coming from such a stock. He welcomed her courteously,
but shyly. She replied with rare affability, and that entire absence of
mock-modesty which was already a feature in her character. To be sure,
she was little more than fifteen, though she was full grown, and looked
nearer twenty.

Bartley began to feel his way with Colonel Clifford about the farm. He
told him he was pretty successful in agriculture, thanks to the
assistance of an experienced friend, and then he said, half carelessly,
"By-the-bye, they tell me you have one to let. Is that so?"

"Walter," said Colonel Clifford, "have you a farm to let?"

"Not at present, sir; but one will be vacant in a month, unless the
present tenant consents to pay thirty per cent. more than he has done."

"Might I see that farm, Mr. Walter?" asked Bartley.

"Certainly," said Walter; "I shall be happy to show you over it." Then he
turned to Mary. "I am afraid it would be no compliment to you. Ladies are
not interested in farms."

"Oh, but _I_ am, since pap