is, it
might be said that he looked as if he had been committing some crime and
was in deadly fear of being found out.

There was no longer room for hesitation in Fielden's mind. There was a
conspiracy between Sir George and Copley against May Haredale's
happiness. Fielden was boiling. It seemed incredible that a man like Sir
George could deliberately become a party to such a scheme as this. And
so the game went on, with two people at least not taking the faintest
interest in it. Then the door opened and May Haredale entered.

Fielden shot a swift glance in her direction. He saw how pale her face
was, how rigidly haughty and set were her features. There were traces of
tears in her eyes, but so far as Fielden could see he had no cause to
despair. Whatever had been said or done, Copley had not gained much. His
face showed that. Defeat was written all over it. He was not the man to
put up with disaster without showing it, and Fielden knew in that moment
that so far, at any rate, things had not gone well with his host. Sir
George saw it, too, for his jaw dropped, and he turned almost a guilty
face towards Copley. For a moment there was an awkward silence.

"It is getting very late," May said. "Don't you think we had better be
going?"

Haredale looked at Copley as if waiting for a lesson.

"It is not so very late," he remarked.

"Well, it seems so to me," May said. "Besides I am very tired. I am sure
Mr. Copley will excuse me."

Copley murmured something more or less appropriate. He was not used to
taking the trouble to disguise his humiliation.

"If you must go, you must," he said. "I'll come round after breakfast
and see you to-morrow morning, Sir George. I have something important
to say to you. Perhaps you will be there, too, Mr. Fielden. I fancy I
can put something in your way. I want some one to take a general
superintendence of my stables. Sir George tells me you are thoroughly
up to the work, and that I can place every confidence in you. You seem
to be the sort of man I am looking for, and, though I am interested in
racing, I have very little time to spare to look into the details."

It was hard work to return thanks for this ungracious speech, but
Fielden managed it somehow. He was feeling strangely elated, and hoped
that nothing of his emotions found expression on his face. He was glad
enough to find himself at length seated in the brougham with his friends
on the way back to Haredale Park. It was a singu