the painting of a plum tree which grows in front of one of the
cottages. It was sold for a large sum, and, as a matter of sentiment,
I suppose, Waller wishes to buy the cottage and make it into a summer
retreat or studio for himself."

"He cannot buy it," said Mrs. de Tracy with the snort of a war horse.

"He cannot buy it apart from the land," insinuated Mark, "but he is
flush of cash and ready to buy the land too--very nearly as much as we
want to sell, and the bargain merely waits your consent. The sum that
has been agreed upon is of the kind that a man in the height of his
triumph offers for a fancy article. No such sum will ever be offered
for land at Wittisham again; old orchard land, falling into desuetude
as it is and covered with condemned cottages."

Mrs. de Tracy was sternly silent, and Mark awaited her next words with
some curiosity. He felt like a torturer drawing the tooth of a Jew in
the good old days. This sale of land was a bitter pill to the widow,
as it well might be, for it was the beginning of the end, as the de
Tracy solicitors could have told you. There had been de Tracys of
Stoke Revel since Queen Elizabeth's time, but there would not be de
Tracys of Stoke Revel much longer,--unless young Carnaby married an
heiress when he came of age--and that no de Tracy had ever done.

"The land across the river," Mrs. de Tracy said at last, "was the
first land the de Tracys held, but much of it went at the Restoration.
Well, let this go too!" she added harshly.

Mark blessed himself that indecision was no part of the lady's
character and sighed with relief. "My father would like to know," he
said, "what you propose to do with regard to the old woman who is the
present tenant of the cottage."

"Elizabeth Prettyman is not a tenant," said Mrs. de Tracy coldly.
"She is practically a pensioner, since she lives rent-free."

"True, I forgot," said Mark soothingly. "I beg your pardon."

"Do not suppose that it is by my wish," continued Mrs. de Tracy
coldly. "I have never approved of supporting the peasantry in
idleness. This woman happened to be for some years nurse to Cynthia de
Tracy, my husband's younger sister, who deeply offended her family by
marrying an American named Bean. I see no claim in that to a pension
of any kind."

"But your husband saw it, I imagine," interpolated Mark quietly, and
Mrs. de Tracy gave him a fierce look, which he met, however, without a
sign of flinching.

"My husband had a