views as to life, declaring that under no circumstances—­had there been no Davis—­would he have consented to remain at Folking as a deputy-squire, waiting to take up his position some twenty years hence at his father’s death.  Nor, even were Folking his own at this moment, would he live there!  He must do something; and, upon the whole, he thought that gold-mining in the colonies was the most congenial pursuit to which he could put his hand.  Then he made a frank acknowledgment as to Davis and his gambling follies, and ended by saying that the matter might be regarded as settled.

He had certainly been successful in changing the old man’s opinion.  Mr. Bolton did not say as much, nor was he a man likely to make such acknowledgment; but when he led John Caldigate away to be introduced to his wife in the drawing-room, he felt less of disdain for his guest than he had done half an hour before.  Mr. Bolton was a silent, cautious man, even in his own family, and had said nothing of this business to his wife, and nothing, of course, to his daughter.  Mrs. Bolton asked after the Squire, and expressed a hope that her guest would not find the house very dull for one night.  She had heard that John Caldigate was a fast young man, and of course regarded him as a lost sinner.  Hester, who was with her mother, looked at him with all her young big eyes, but did not speak a word.  It was very seldom that she saw any young man, or indeed young people of either sex.  But when this stranger spoke freely to her mother about this subject and the other, she listened to him and was interested.

John Caldigate, without being absolutely handsome, was a youth sure to find favour in a woman’s eyes.  He was about five feet ten in height, strong and very active, with bright dark eyes which were full of life and intelligence.  His forehead was square and showed the angles of his brow; his hair was dark and thick and cut somewhat short; his mouth was large, but full of expression and generally, also, of good-humour.  His nose would have been well formed, but that it was a little snubbed at the end.  Altogether his face gave you the idea of will, intellect, and a kindly nature; but there was in it a promise, too, of occasional anger, and a physiognomist might perhaps have expected from it that vacillation in conduct which had hitherto led him from better things into wretched faults.

As he was talking to Mrs. Bolton he had observed the girl, who sat apart, with her fingers busy on her work, and who had hardly spoken a word since his entrance.  She was, he thought, the most lovely human being that he had ever beheld; and yet she was hardly more than a child.  But how different from those girls at Babington!  Her bright brown hair was simply brushed from off her forehead and tied in a knot behind her head.  Her dress was as plain as a child’s,—­as though it was intended that she should still be regarded as a child.  Her face was very fair, with large, grey, thoughtful eyes, and a mouth which, though as Caldigate watched her it was never opened, seemed always as if it was just about to pour forth words.  And he could see that though her eyes were intent upon her work, from time to time she looked across at him; and he thought that if only they two were alone together, he could teach her to speak.