Mr. Yardley, with no wish to appear romantic, would never have been guilty of lounging in a lady’s presence. Nor would he have paid a morning visit dressed in a shooting-jacket, and with a silk handkerchief knotted round his throat, its ends untidily worn outside his coat. He was dressed with neatness and propriety in a sober riding-coat and buckskins, and so far from training a lock of hair to droop over one brow he wore his hair rather closer cropped than was fashionable. He might have served as a model for a country gentleman of solid worth and modest ambition; certainly no stranger would have guessed that it was he, and not Oswald, who was the only child of a doting and widowed mother.

His father having died before Edward had reached his tenth birthday he had at a very early age come into the possession of his fortune. This was respectable rather than handsome, large enough to enable a prudent man to command the elegancies of life and still contrive to be beforehand with the world. A sprig of fashion, bent on cutting a dash, would have thought it penury, but Edward had no extravagant tastes. His estate, which was situated rather less than ten miles from Undershaw, was neither so extensive nor so important as Undershaw, but it was generally considered to be a snug property, and conferred upon its owner the acknowledged standing in the North Riding which was the summit of his ambition. Of a naturally serious disposition he was also endowed with a strong sense of duty. Frustrating all the efforts of his mama to ruin his character by excessive indulgence he early assumed the conduct of his affairs, and rapidly grew into a grave young man of uniform virtues. If he had neither liveliness nor wit he had a great deal of commonsense; and if his masterful nature made him rather too autocratic in his household his firm rule over his mama and his dependants was always actuated by a sincere belief in his ability to decide what would be best for them to do on all occasions.