It was just lunchtime when he returned to Lenty Cottage. His mother had been weeding in the garden all the morning; and she brought into the small front-room, where they had their light meal, a breath of earth-mould that was very acceptable after his recent conversation.

“You look very well pleased with yourself, Wolf,” she said, as they sat down opposite each other. “What have you been doing to make you feel so complacent?”

“Acting as oil and wine, Mother,” he answered, “between the squire and the vicar.”

She threw back her head and laughed wickedly.

“You’re a nice one to settle quarrels! But I suppose you settled this one by shouting them both down, and that’s what’s given your dear face⁠—as grandmamma used to say⁠—that ‘beyond yourself’ look! There’s a letter for you under that book; but you shan’t have it till I’ve finished this good meal and drunk my coffee.”