girl was silent, and looked steadily on the floor.

"What is it, Mary? There's something wrong."

"Of course, I cannot be blind to young Wilson's attentions," she said,
and her voice was hard as she spoke.

"Well, he's a decent fellow, and, on the whole, I like these Lancashire
people. They may be a trifle rough, and, of course, the Wilsons belong
to _nouveaux riches_ class, but young Ned cannot help that; besides, say
what we will, any girl might do worse than take Ned Wilson. I know, as a
fact, that his father is making an enormous income, and Ned, being the
only son, will be one of the richest men in Lancashire."

"He has the mind of a navvy and the tastes of a bookmaker." And her
voice was almost bitter as she spoke.

Her father laughed uneasily. "That's all nonsense, Mary!" he said.
"But, tell me really, what do you think my chances are? You know the
town now better than I do. Do you think I shall beat Stepaside?"

"He's not a man to be easily beaten," was her reply. "I believe that,
unless----"

"Yes, unless what?"

"Unless extreme means are used, he will win."

"I will not be beaten!" said Mr. Bolitho, and his eyes flashed as he
spoke. "That fellow insulted me in the Manchester Law Courts, and I was
glad when he got six months. Fellows of his order need to be taught a
lesson, and he shall be taught, too."

"I don't think you understand him, father," she said. "He's one of those
men who will never be beaten. He'll rise above every difficulty, and
move every obstacle out of his way. I don't know why it is, but I don't
feel comfortable about this contest, and I feel afraid of him."

"Afraid, Mary!"

"Yes," replied the girl. "I am afraid. I know I've no reason to be, but
whenever I think of him I become angry, and yet I don't know why I should
be angry. In a sense, he makes me admire him. He came to Brunford a few
years ago utterly poor and unknown, and now he's become quite a
personality. He's just one of those strong men that always wins his way.
And he hates you, too, father."

And then, without any apparent reason, the girl left the room.

Meanwhile, Paul Stepaside was in a train that carried him northward. He
was doing now what he had meant to have done long months before. He had
constantly been making endeavours to discover the truth about the Douglas
Graham of whom his mother had spoken, but he had done so without a plan,
and in a kind of haphazard way, and this was not like