a wretched parson's girl can do as she
pleases, and scoff at me."

"Well, only wait," repeated Dudley—
"wait a little, then we shall see."

CHAPTER XIII. FOOD FOR THE GOSSIPS.

He left her sitting there, looking into
the fire, beating her hands impatiently.
"Only wait." How easily that speech is
made. Yet, it is the lever that moves
everything—the earth itself. Time, in
short, says, "I will help you. Give me
your arm." But we turn impatient from
that hobbling old dotard: with our hearts
in a whirl, boiling and yeasting, we must
rush on, or sink down and die—at least,
we think so. Waiting has the air of
indifference—indifference suggests power and
other store of resources—which air piques
the bystander and makes him impatient.

As they were getting their hats and
coats in the hall, a hoarse voice said to
Conway: "I want to go back with you,
Conway—something to say to you."

"With all my heart," said the other;
"I'll give you a seat." Conway had his
own "trap," and drove himself. Dudley,
who had made the offer, sat beside him and
did not speak for some time. Between
the two men there had been some coolness,
more instinctive than grounded on any
real offence; for Conway was "bored"
with his glowering looks and his growling
manners, and general discontent.

"Look here, Conway," he said, at last;
"I was watching you to-night, and I've
made up my mind to speak plainly to you."

"But I have made up my mind not to
listen to plain speaking. It is always
disagreeable."

"Oh, you are ready and free enough with
a speech any day, I admit that. But I tell
you what, I see your double game, and one
at least you sha'n't play, and I won't have it."

"This is really plain speaking. Well!"

"I won't, I can't, have it. Don't I see,
don't we all see, how you are hanging
between those two girls? You are so
tickled because you think you have made
an impression on both; you can't make up
your mind to come forward and say what
you mean, or leave this place like an
honest man."

"This is a very strange way of speaking
to me, Dudley," said Conway, haughtily.
"What should my affairs be to you,
whether I ought to go or stay? I should
be the last person in the world to think of
directing your movements."

"No man has done that yet. But see
here. You know I am rough, but what I
say roughly is only what other men mean,
but can say more smoothly. Leave that girl,
do. It is an unfair advantage. She has
been brought up here, in these backwoods,
like a child, like a girl in the fairy tales;
and if she have her whim, even for a time,
it must be gratified; you know that, as well
as I do, and it is not fair to take advantage
of it."

"We had better stop this," said Conway,
"our acquaintance is slight——"

"But not mine with her. I am as much
to her as her brother, or her father. I tell
you again it is not fair, it's shabby. They all
know here what your design is, and what
you and your people would be glad to carry
out. I know it, and hear more things at a
distance than you suspect. I say it is
shabby, as I saw you doing to-night, playing
off those two girls against each other,
so as to get both profit and amusement out
of the business.

Conway almost drew up his horse, and
stopped his trap. "This is a very strange
tone, Mr. Dudley," he said, "and I must
beg you will not trouble me with any advice
or concern in my affairs. I do not allow
it even from members of my own family."

"I am glad you take this tone, because
now I can speak plainly as to what I
will not allow—as to her. Oh, don't think
that I don't know a great deal of these
dandy tricks, carrying on with that Bailey's
daughter, affecting to be on her side, and
her superior wisdom—I suppose laughing
at that poor girl's little fancies—and then
passing over to her. Her fortune would
come in very usefully to repair the walls of
Formanton. Wait, you must listen. Here
is the town, so you may as well. I don't
want to be offensive, but to speak out
plainly, and I warn you in time, I will not
have her sacrificed, and I tell you, in time,
you shall not do it."

"I suppose being in a man's carriage is
like being under one's roof, and there is a
certain duty of hospitality involved. Still
I am very glad you have taken up this
tone, as it will clear the ground considerably.
I may speak as plainly as you have
done to me."

"Precisely what I should like."

"Well, then, I must tell you that the
very fact of your giving such warnings,
orders, or whatever you may call them,
would be enough, actually enough, to make
me continue as I was, persevere in exactly
the same course. As a man of the world
you surely must see this."

"You refuse, then? Take care!"

"Give me some reason, then! What is