"What insolence!"
John Grange's brown, good-looking face turned of a reddish-brown in the
cheeks, the warm tint mounting into his forehead, as he looked straight
in the speaker's eyes, and there was a good, manly English ring in his
voice as he said sturdily--
"I didn't know, Mr Ellis, that it was insolent for a man to come in a
straightforward way, and say to the father of the young lady simply--
yes, and humbly--`I love your daughter, sir.'"
"But it is, sir, downright insolence. Recollect what you are, sir, only
an under-gardener living at the bothy on thirty shillings a week."
"I do recollect it, sir, but I don't mean to be an under-gardener
always."
"Oh, indeed," said James Ellis sarcastically, "but poor old Dunton is
not dead yet, and when he does die, Mrs Mostyn is quite as likely to
appoint Daniel Barnett to his place as you, and if she takes my advice,
she'll give the post to neither of you, but get some able, sensible man
from Chiswick."
"But, Mr Ellis--"
"That will do, John Grange," said the owner of that name pompously. "I
know what you are going to say. I am not ashamed of having been only a
gardener once, but I am Mrs Mostyn's bailiff and agent now, sir, and,
so to speak, your master. Let me hear no more of this nonsense, sir.
That will do. But one moment. Have you had the--I mean, does Mary--I
mean, does Miss Ellis know that you were going to speak to me this
evening?"
"No, sir," said John Grange sternly. "I'm only an under-gardener, but
I've heard that it was the proper thing to speak out openly first."
"Then Mary does not know that you--I mean, that you think about her?"
"I hope and believe she does; sir," said the young man warmly, and his
eyes flashed, and a proud, joyful look came into his countenance.
"Then I beg you will not hope and believe anything of the kind, sir,
again. My daughter will do precisely as I wish, and when I part with
her, it will be to see her go to a substantial home. Good-evening!"
James Ellis tucked his walking-stick under his arm, took off his grey
felt hat, drew a red silk handkerchief from the crown, rubbed his bald
head, and made himself look hotter as he strode away, while after
standing and watching him go toward the bailiff's cottage just outside
the park fence at The Hollows on the hill slope, a quarter of a mile
away, the young man uttered a sigh and turned in at an open doorway in a
high wall, whose top was fringed with young shoots of peaches,
nectarines, and apricots, suggestive of the horticultural treasures
within.
"What a slap in the face!" he muttered. "Under-gardener! Well, that's
all right. Give poor old Dunton's place to Dan Barnett! Here, I can't
go in now, I must walk this off."
John Grange pulled the open door to, so that it fastened with a snap,
and turned off to make for the woods, where he could think alone.
His way was for a couple of hundred yards toward the pretty villa known
as the bailiff's cottage, and he had not gone half that distance when a
sudden pang shot through him. For the place stood high, and he caught
sight of two figures in the garden, one that of a man, the other that of
some one in white muslin and a straw hat, coming toward the gate. The
next minute the man was in the road, and half a minute later he was
standing talking to Mrs Mostyn's agent, while the white muslin that had
been so plainly seen amongst the shrubs had disappeared into the
cottage.
John Grange's face grew dark with a look of despair, and he did not go
off into the woods.
Dan Barnett, up there at the cottage talking to Mary, while he had been
speaking to her father, and she had come down to the gate with her
visitor.
Something very like a groan escaped the young man's lips as he crossed
the road to lean his arms upon the gate, and looked over into the park,
feeling more miserable than ever before in his life.
"I'm a poor, weak fool," he thought. "He's good-looking, and knows the
way to a girl's heart. Better keep to my nailing and pruning. One from
the father, two from Dan Barnett. Regular knock-down blows. Better get
up again, go to work and forget it all--if I can."
"Nice evening, John Grange. Drop o' rain coming?"
"Eh? Yes, I think so, Tummus," said the young man, turning to the dry,
quaint old fellow who had spoken, and who now screwed up the bark on his
face--it more resembled that than skin--showed three or four ancient,
yellow teeth, and jerked his right thumb over his shoulder.
"I say--see that? Young Dan Barnett going courtin', and now having it
out with Miss Mary's dad. You mark my words, Mr John, sir, if poor old
Dunton dies, and Dan Barnett steps into his shoes, there'll be a wedding
yonder."
"Think so, Tummus?" said John Grange, with a forced smile.
"Aye, that's what I think, sir," said the old man, and then showing his
gums as well as his teeth, he continued, "and I thinks this 'ere too--
that if I'd been a young, good-looking chap like some one I know, I
wouldn't ha' let Dan Barnett shoulder me out, and stand in first with
the prettiest and best young lady in these parts. Evening!"
"Here, hi! You!" came from behind them, and the person in question
strode up, looking frowning and angry.
"You ca' me, Mr Dan?"
"Yes; did you finish wheeling up that stuff?"
"Aye; I fishened it all 'fore I left work. Good-evening."
He left the two young men standing together, and there was a peculiar,
malicious look in the fresh-comer's eyes as he gave John Grange a short
nod.
"Mrs Mostyn say anything to you 'bout the cedar?"
"Yes; she said the broken stump was to be cut off to-morrow."
"Then you'd better get the ladders and ropes ready first thing."
"You mean _we_ had better," said John Grange quietly.
"No, I don't. I'm not going to break my neck for thirty shillings a
week. Heard how Dunton is?"
"Very bad. Doctor Manning was here again this evening."
"Well, he's nearly ninety--a man can't expect to live for ever. Time he
did go."
John Grange walked away toward the head-gardener's cottage to ask for
the last news, and Daniel Barnett stood watching him with a frown on his
rather handsome features.
"Poor old Dunton!" said John Grange to himself; "we shall miss him when
he's gone."
"Hang him!" muttered Barnett, "that's it. I saw him talking to the old
man, but he hasn't won yet. Insolence, eh? I like that. The Barnetts
are as good as the Ellis's, anyhow. Wait a bit, my lady, and I may take
a bit of the pride out of you."
Some men have a habit of thinking across the grain.