enough? Name your own terms then. How much will you take?"

"A million pounds!"

The words leapt out of my mouth as it seemed of their own volition. I
was tired of this farcical bargaining, and determined to put an end to
it, once for all. I stood up and faced his blank stare of amazement,
without at least any outward shrinking.

"Surely it is useless to prolong this bargaining. It is very unpleasant
and humiliating."

Mr Maplestone set his square jaw.

"You are only one partner to this transaction. Mrs Fane is probably
your senior. If I were to see her, she might be induced to name a
more--er--shall I say reasonable (oh, the cutting sarcasm of that tone!)
figure."

"_Two_ millions."

The high clear tone struck across the room. Mr Maplestone wheeled
round and beheld Charmion standing just outside the opening of the
screen, one hand raised to rest lightly on the curved wood coping. She
might have posed as a picture of graceful, imperturbed ease, so calm, so
smiling, so absolutely unflurried and detached in both manner and
bearing did she appear. Mr Maplestone looked at her and--this was a
curious thing--at one glance realised his defeat. All my efforts at
dignity and firmness had failed to convince him, but behind Charmion's
frail, essentially feminine exterior, those keen eyes had at once
detected that strain of inflexibility which I was only slowly beginning
to realise.

It was hopeless to bandy words. The Squire knew as much, and turned to
the table to lift his hat and whip. He gave a short scornful laugh.

"The terms seem a trifle--high! I am afraid I must retire from the
bidding. Pastimes is yours. I hope"--he looked from me to Charmion,
and his expression was not pleasant to see--"I hope you may not have
cause to repent your bargain!"

We bowed. He bowed. The door opened and shut. Charmion looked at me
and shrugged her shoulders.

"A declaration of war! We have begun our campaign by quarrelling with
the most `influential gentleman in these parts!' Things are getting
exciting, Evelyn!"

I did not speak. Reaction had set in, and I felt a pang of remorse. I
did not want to quarrel with anyone, influential or uninfluential. I
was sorry I had been ungracious. I felt a pang of sympathy for the
poor, big, bad-tempered man riding homeward after his defeat.

I wondered when and how we should meet him again.

CHAPTER SIX.

HUNTING THE FLAT.

Leaving the workmen to carry ou