"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