intended either to show it to her or to speak of it, and asked him
therefore, with some tone of interest in her voice, from whom it had
come. But Mr Amedroz was fretful at the moment, and instead of
answering her began to complain of his tenant's ill-usage of him.

'What has he got his cart there for? I haven't let him the road up to
the hall door. I suppose he will bring his things into the parlour
next.'

'I rather like it, papa.'

'Do you? I can only say that you're lucky in your tastes. I don't like
it, I can tell you.'

'Mr Stovey is out there. Shall I ask him to have the things moved
farther off?'

'No, my dear no. I must bear it, as I do all the rest of it. What does
it matter? There'll be an end of it soon. He pays his rent, and I
suppose he is right to do as he pleases. But I can't say that I like
it.'

'Am I to see the letter, papa?' she asked, wishing to turn his mind
from the subject of the hay-cart.

'Well, yes. I brought it for you to see; though perhaps I should be
doing better if I burned it, and said nothing more about it. It is a
most impudent production; and heartless very heartless.'

Clara was accustomed to such complaints as these from her father.