vicarage lawn, looked up at his brother
over the Chronicle with a faint frown. "Who?"

"Ah! who?" said Rowsley, squatting cross-legged on the turf.

"Jack began on it this afternoon, and I had to switch him off, for
I didn't care to own that it was news to me."

"There's nothing in it at present."

"The duke has offered me the management of his Etchingham
property," said Val unwillingly. "Oh no, not to give up Bernard:
Etchingham, you see, marches with Wanhope and the two could be
run together. He was awfully nice about it: would take what time
I could give him: quite saw that Wanhope would have to come
first."

"How much?"

"Four hundred and an allowance for a house. Five, to be precise,
which is what he is giving Mills: but of course I couldn't take
full time pay for a part-time job."

Rowsley whistled.

"Yes, it would be very nice," said Val, always temperate. "It
would practically be 300 pounds, for I couldn't go on taking my
full 300 pounds from Bernard. I should get him to put on a young
fellow to work under me."

"It would make a lot of difference to you, even so."

"To us," Val corrected him. "Another pound a week would oil the
wheels of Isabel's housekeeping. And--" he hesitated, but
having gone so far one might as well go on--"it would enable me
to do two things I've long set my heart on, only it was no use
saying so: give you another hundred and fifty a year and insure
my life in Isabel's favour. It would lift a weight off my mind
if I could do that. Suppose I were to die suddenly--one never
knows what would become of her? She'll be able to earn her own
living after taking her degree in October, but women's posts are
badly paid and it's uncommonly hard to save. Oh yes, old boy, I
know you'd look after her! But I don't want her to be a drag on
you: it's bad enough now--you never grumble, but I know what
it's like never to have a penny to spare. Times have changed
since I was in the Army, but nothing alters the fact that it's
uncommonly unpleasant to be worse off than other fellows. I hate
it for you--all the more because you don't grumble. It is a
constant worry to me not to be able to put you in a better
position."

Rowsley had been too long inured to this paternal tenderness to
be sensible of its touching absurdity on the lips of a man not
much older than himself. But he was not a selfish youth, and he
remonstrated with Val, though more like a son than a brother.
"Yes, I dar