"No. A man who pays my father's rent."

I was quite unprepared for such a reply as this: Cristel had surprised
me. To begin with, her father was "well-connected," as we say in England.
His younger brother had made a fortune in commerce, and had vainly
offered him the means of retiring from the mill with a sufficient income.
Then again, Giles Toller was known to have saved money. His domestic
expenses made no heavy demand on his purse; his German wife (whose
Christian name was now borne by his daughter) had died long since; his
sons were no burden on him; they had never lived at the mill in my
remembrance. With all these reasons against his taking a stranger into
his house, he had nevertheless, if my interpretation of Cristel's answer
was the right one, let his spare rooms to a lodger. "Mr. Toller can't
possibly be in want of money," I said.

"The more money father has, the more he wants. That's the reason," she
added bitterly, "why he asked for plenty of room when the cottage was
built, and why we have got a lodger."

"Is the lodger a gentleman?"

"I don't know. Is a man a gentleman, if he keeps a servant? Oh, don't
trouble to think about it, sir! It isn't worth thinking about."

This was plain speaking at last. "You don't seem to like the lodger," I
said.

"I hate him!"