has taken a fancy to you. And she
can be quite decent to anyone when she likes. You can bring the dog
along," continued the squire. "You can have your own sitting-room--your
own maid, if you want one. You can come and go as you choose. No one
will interfere with you. All I want you to do is to put the brake on my
wife, make her take an interest in her home, make her take life
seriously. She's not at all strong. She doesn't give herself a chance.
Unless I fetch in a doctor and practically keep her in bed by main force
she never gets any decent rest. Why, she's hardly ever in her room before
two in the morning. It's almost a form of madness with her, this
ceaseless round. I can't prevent it. I'm a busy man myself." He suddenly
got to his feet with a jerk and stood looking down at her with sombre
eyes. "I'm a busy man," he repeated. "I have my ambitions, and I work for
them. I work hard. But the one thing I want more than anything else on
earth is a son to succeed me. And if I can't have that--there's nothing
else that counts."

He spoke with bitter vehemence, beating restlessly against his heel with
his whip. But Juliet still sat silent, looking out before her at the
golden pink of the apple-trees in the sunset light with grave quiet eyes.

He went on morosely, egotistically, "I don't know what I've done that I
shouldn't have what practically every labourer on my estate has got. I
may not have been absolutely impeccable in my youth. I've never yet met a
man who was--with the single exception of Dick Green who hasn't much
temptation to be anything else. But I've lived straight on the whole.
I've played the game--or tried to. And yet--after five years of
marriage--I'm still without an heir, and likely to remain so, as far as I
can see. She says I'm mad on that point." He spoke resentfully. "But
after all, it's what I married for. I don't see why I should be cheated
out of the one thing I want most, do you?"

Juliet's eyes came up to his, slowly, somewhat reluctantly. "I'm afraid I
haven't much sympathy with you," she said.

"You haven't?" he looked amazed.

"No." She paused a moment. "It was a pity you told me. You see, a woman
doesn't care to be married--just for that."

"And what do you suppose she married me for?" he demanded indignantly.
"Do you think she was in love with me--a man thirty years older than
herself? Oh, I assure you, there were never any illusions on that score!
I had a good deal to offer her, and