'
'Indeed? Who is he?'
'A poverty-stricken squire, with an old house and a few acres--the remnants
of a large estate gambled away by his father. I know him by name, and I'm
quite sure that he knows me. If I had offered him my card, as I thought of
doing, I dare say his tone would have changed.'
This pettishness amused me so much that I pretended to be a little sore
myself.
'His poverty, I suppose, has spoilt his temper.'
'No doubt,--I can understand that,' he added, with a smile. 'But I don't
allow people to treat me like a tramp. I shall go up and see him this
afternoon.'
'And insist on an apology?'
'Oh, there'll be no need of insisting. The fellow has several unmarried
daughters.'
It seemed to me that my companion was bent on showing his worst side. I
returned to my old thoughts of him; he was snobbish, insolent, generally
detestable; but a man to be studied, and I let him talk as he would.
The reduced squire was Mr. Humphrey Armitage, of Brackley Hall. For my own
part, the demeanour of this gentleman had seemed perfectly adapted to the
occasion; we were strangers plunging through his preserves, and his tone to
us had nothing improper; it was we who owed an apology.
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