at paper.' She motioned towards it
as it lay on the writing-table.

'I have no objection whatever to your knowing what it is--as you
seem determined to know,' he said sarcastically. 'It is a codicil
revoking my will in favour of my eldest son, and leaving all the
property of which I die possessed, and which is in my power to
bequeath, to my younger son Desmond. What have you to do with that?
What possible responsibility can you have?'

Elizabeth wavered, but held her ground, though in evident distress.

'Only that--if I don't sign it--you would have time to consider it
again. Mr. Mannering--isn't it--isn't it--very unjust?'

The Squire laughed.

'How do you know that in refusing you are not unjust to Desmond?'

'Oh no!' she said fervently. 'Mr. Desmond would never wish to
supplant his brother--and for such a reason. And especially--' she
paused.

There were tears rising in her throat.

'Especially--what? Upon my word, you claim a rather remarkable
knowledge of my family--in six weeks!'

'I do know something of Desmond!' Her voice showed her agitation.
'He is the dearest, the most generous boy. In a few months he will
be going out--he will be saying good-bye to you all.'

'And then?'

'Is this a time to make him unhappy--to send him out with something
on his mind?--something that might even--'

'Well, go on!'

'Might even make him wish'--her voice dropped--'not to come back.'

There was silence. Then the Squire violently threw down the pen he
was holding on the table beside him.

'Thank you, Miss Bremerton. That will do. I bid you good-night!'

Elizabeth did not wait to be told twice. She turned and fled down
the whole length of the library. The door at the further end closed
upon her.

'A masterful young woman!' said the Squire after a moment, drawing a
long breath. Then he took up the codicil, thrust it into a drawer of
his writing-table, lit a cigarette, and walked up and down smoking
it. After which he went to bed and slept remarkably well.

Elizabeth cried herself to sleep. No comforting sprite whispered to
her that she had won the first round in an arduous campaign. On the
contrary, she fully expected dismissal on the morrow.

CHAPTER V

It was a misty but warm October day, and a pleasant veiled light lay
on the pillared front of Chetworth House, designed in the best taste
of a fastidious school. The surroundings of the house, too, were as
perfect as those of Mannering were slatte