and he dislikes the idea of
anyone building at Bryndermere."

"So should I," said Stafford, laconically.

"And besides," she went on, her eyes fixed on the great white building,
so that she did not see his embarrassment, "my father does not like the
man who built it. He thinks that he got the land unfairly; and he--my
father--calls him all sorts of hard names."

Stafford bit his lips, and his face wore the expression which came into
it when he was facing an ugly jump. He would have shirked this one if
he could, but it had to be faced, so he rushed it.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My father built it."

She did not start, but she turned her head and looked at him, with a
sudden coldness in the glorious eyes.

"Your father--Sir Stephen Orme? Then you are--"

"I am his son, yes; my name is Stafford Orme."

She gathered her reins up, as if no comment, no remark were necessary,
but Stafford could not let her go, could not part from her like that.

"I'm sorry to hear that Mr. Heron has some cause of complaint, some
grievance against my father. I can understand his not liking the house;
to tell you the truth, I don't care for it much myself. Yes; I can
understand Mr. Heron's annoyance; I suppose he can see it from your
house?"

"No," she said, simply. "This is the only part of our land from which
it can be seen, and my father never comes here: never leaves the
grounds, the garden." She paused a moment. "I don't know why you should
mind--except that I said that the land was got unfairly--I wish I had
not said that."

Stafford coloured.

"So do I," he said; "but I hope it isn't true. There may be some
mistake. I don't know anything about my father's affairs--I haven't
seen him for years; I am almost a stranger to him."

She listened with a grave face, then she touched the big chestnut; but
Stafford, almost unconsciously, laid his hand on the rein nearest him.
His mouth and chin expressed the determination which now and again
surprised even his most intimate friends.

"Miss Heron, I'm afraid--" He paused, and she waited, her eyes downcast
and fixed on the horse's ears.

"I scarcely know how to put what I want to say," he said. "I'm rather
bad at explaining myself; but I--well, I hope you won't feel angry with
me because of the house, because of anything that has passed between
your father and mine--Of course I stand by him; but--well, _I_ didn't
build the confounded place--I beg your pardon! but I think it's rather