ent. Her morals, they said, might be a trifle shady, but her
farming was above reproach. More reluctantly they admitted that she had
made something of that young rotter, Colin, even while they supposed
that he had been sent abroad to keep him out of Anne Severn's way. They
also supposed that as soon as he could do it decently Jerrold would get
rid of Anne.

Then two things happened. In July Maisie Fielding came back and was seen
driving about the country with Anne Severn; and in the same month old
Sutton died and the Barrow Farm was let to Anne, thus establishing her
permanence.

Anne had refused to take it from Jerrold as his gift. He had pressed her
persistently.

"You might, Anne. It's the only thing I can give you. And what is it? A
scrubby two hundred acres."

"It's a thundering lot of land, Jerrold. I can't take it."

"You must. It isn't enough, after all you've done for us. I'd like to
give you everything I've got; Wyck Manor and the whole blessed estate to
the last turnip, and every cow and pig. But I can't do that. And you
used to say you wanted the Barrow Farm."

"I wanted to rent it, Jerry darling. I can't let you give it me."

"Why not? I think it's simply beastly of you not to."

At that point Maisie had passed through the room with her flowers and he
had called to her to help him.

"What are you two quarrelling about?" she said.

"Why, I want to give her the Barrow Farm and she won't let me."

"Of course I won't let him. A whole farm. How could I?"

"I think you might, Anne. It would please him no end."

"She thinks," Jerrold said, "she can go on doing things for us, but we
mustn't do anything for her. And I say it's beastly of her."

"It is really, Anne darling. It's selfish. He wants to give it you so
awfully. He won't be happy if you won't take it."

"But a farm, a whole thumping farm. It's a big house and two hundred
acres. How can I take a thing like that? You couldn't yourself if you
were me."

Maisie's little white fingers flickered over the blue delphiniums
stacked in the blue-and-white Chinese jar. Her mauve-blue eyes were
smiling at Anne over the tops of the tall blue spires.

"Don't you want to make him happy?" she said.

"Not that way."

"If it's the only way--?"

She passed out of the room, still smiling, to gather more flowers. They
looked at each other.

"Jerrold, I can't stand it when she says things like that."

"No more can I. But you know, she really does want