“There is no need. I am almost done,” answered Richard.

“You surely cannot see in this light!” said Arthur, who was shortsighted. “You were certainly not at your work when I came into the room.”

He thought Richard had picked up the piece of leather he was paring in order to deceive him.

“Indeed I was.”

“You were not. You were reading.”

“I was not reading, sir. I was busy with the last of my work.”

“Do not tell me you were not reading—I heard you!”

“You did hear me, sir. But you did not hear me reading,” rejoined Richard, growing angry with Arthur’s tone and with his reluctance to believe him.

“You must have a wonderful memory then!” said Lestrange. “But we don’t care to hear your voice in the house.”

The same moment he either discovered or pretended to discover Barbara’s presence.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Wylder,” he said. “I did not know Mr. Tuke was amusing you.”

“I suppose,” returned Barbara, “that you will be ordering the nightingales not to sing in your apple trees next!”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Neither do you understand Mr. Tuke, or you would not speak to him that way.”

She rose and walked to the door, but turned as she went and added. “He was repeating the loveliest poem I ever heard. I didn’t know there could be such a poem!”

“It is not one I care about. But you need not take it second-hand from Tuke. I will lend it to you.”

“Thank you!” said Barbara, in a tone which was not of gratitude, and left the room.

Lestrange stood for a moment, but finding nothing suitable to say, turned and followed her. Barbara went to the door with the intention of going to the stables for Miss Brown and galloping straight home. But she thought to herself that she had no reason to leave. She was not Arthur’s guest! He had been insolent to her friend who had done more for her already than Arthur was ever likely to. There was no reason she should run away from him—just the contrary! What right had he to speak so? By being a true workman, Mr. Tuke was a gentleman! Could Arthur Lestrange have talked like that? Could he have spoken the poetry like that? Could he shoe a horse? What if the poor man should turn out to be the real lord of the earth, and the gentleman have to black his boots! There was something like that in the gospel!