'm to stay here alone?"

"I suppose so, now that you have sent Frances away."

"I have not sent her away. What do you mean, miss?"

"I'm not going to say what I mean," said Fluff. "Dear Frances is very
unhappy, and I'm very unhappy too, and Philip, I think, is the most
miserable of all. As far as I can tell, all this unhappiness has been
caused by you, squire, so I suppose you are happy; but if you think I am
going to stay at the Firs without Frances you are very much mistaken. I
would not stay with you now on any account, for you are a selfish old
man, and I don't love you any longer."

This angry little speech was uttered after Jane had withdrawn, and even
while Fluff spoke she pushed some fruit toward the squire.

"You are a selfish old man," she continued, her cheeks burning and her
eyes flashing; "you want your comforts, you want to be amused, and to
get the best of everything; and if that is so you don't care for others.
Well, here is the nicest fruit in the garden--eat it; and by and by I'll
sing for you, if my singing gives you pleasure. I'll do all this while I
stay, but I'm going away the day after to-morrow. But I don't love you
any more, for you are unkind to Frances."

The squire was really too much astonished to reply. Nobody in all his
life had ever spoken to him in this way before; he felt like one who was
assaulted and beaten all over. He was stunned, and yet he still clung in
a sort of mechanical way to the comforts which were dearer to him than
life. He picked out the finest strawberries which Fluff had piled on his
plate, and conveyed them to his lips. Fluff flew out of the room for her
guitar, and when she returned she began to sing a gay Italian air in a
very sprightly and effective manner. In the midst of her song the squire
broke in with a sudden question.

"What do you mean by saying I am unkind to Frances?"

Fluff's guitar dropped with a sudden clatter to the floor.

"You won't let her marry Philip--she loves him with all her heart, and
he loves her. They have cared for each other for ten long years, and now
you are parting them. You are a dreadfully, dreadfully selfish old man,
and I hate you!"

Here the impulsive little girl burst into tears and ran out of the room.
The squire sat long over his strawberries.

CHAPTER XIV.

"I HATE THE SQUIRE."

It was arranged that Frances should take up her abode at Arden on the
following Friday, and on Thursday Fluff was to go to Lond