But the matter rankled in Bartley's mind.
Without saying any more to Hope, he consulted a sharp attorney.
The result was that he took Mary Bartley with him into Derbyshire.
He put up at a little inn, and called at Clifford Hall.
He found Colonel Clifford at home, and was received stiffly, but graciously.

He gave Colonel Clifford to understand that he had left business.
"All the better," said Colonel Clifford, sharply.
"And taken to farming." "Ugh!" said the other, with his favorite snort.
At this moment, who should walk into the room but Walter Clifford.
Bartley started and stared.

Walter started and stared.
"Mr.Bolton," said Bartley, scarcely above a whisper.
But Colonel Clifford heard it, and said, brusquely: "Bolton! No.

Why, this is Walter Clifford, my son, and my man of business .-- Walter, this is Mr.Bartley." "Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," said the astute Bartley, ignoring the past.
Walter was glad he took this line before Colonel Clifford: not that he forgave Mr.Bartley that old affront the reader knows of.
The judicious Bartley read his face, and, as a first step toward propitiation, introduced him to his daughter.

Walter was amazed at her beauty and grace, coming from such a stock.