had been how to extract the greatest pleasure from the day.
One had frequently to grapple with the problems arising from scanty
finances at Silverdale.

"It will go up again," she said. "Is there anything else?"

Barrington's face grew a trifle grim as he nodded. "There is, and
while I have not much expectation of an advance in prices, I have been
worrying over another affair lately."

His niece regarded him steadily. "You mean Lance Courthorne?"

"Yes," said Barrington, who flicked the near horse somewhat viciously
with the whip. "He is also sufficient to cause any man with my
responsibilities considerable anxiety."

Maud Barrington looked thoughtful. "You fancy he will come to
Silverdale?"

Barrington appeared to be repressing an inclination towards vigorous
speech with some difficulty, and a little glint crept into his eyes.
"If I could by any means prevent it, the answer would be, No. As it
is, you know that, while I founded it, Silverdale was one of Geoffrey
Courthorne's imperialistic schemes, and a good deal of the land was
recorded in his name. That being so, he had every right to leave the
best farm on it to the man he had disinherited, especially as Lance
will not get a penny of the English property. Still, I do not know why
he did so, because he never spoke of him without bitterness."

"Yes," said the girl, while a little flush crept into her face. "I was
sorry for the old man. It was a painful story."

Colonel Barrington nodded. "It is one that is best forgotten--and you
do not know it all. Still, the fact that the man may settle among us
is not the worst. As you know, there was every reason to believe that
Geoffrey intended all his property at Silverdale for you."

"I have much less right to it than his son, and the colonial cure is
not infrequently efficacious," said Miss Barrington. "Lance may, after
all, quiet down, and he must have some good qualities."

The Colonel's smile was very grim. "It is fifteen years since I saw
him at Westham, and they were not much in evidence then. I can
remember two little episodes, in which he figured, with painful
distinctness, and one was the hanging of a terrier which had in some
way displeased him. The beast was past assistance when I arrived on
the scene, but the devilish pleasure in the lad's face sent a chill
through me. In the other, the gardener's lad flung a stone at a
blackbird on the wall above the vinery, and Master Lance, who I fan