r profession, for you have shown wonderful
forethought in the management of your own affairs. It was an admirable
idea to provide for both emergencies, while leaving yourself free. The
only drawback to success is that Ruth and myself happened to be friends,
and were mutually anxious that the other should not be deceived. Under
the circumstances, you will not be surprised that I must decline to
consider the problematical offer of the Court and its master. I will
live unmarried all my days, or I will marry an honest man and a
gentleman!"

Victor stood gazing at her, a figure cut in stone. For a few moments
stupefaction held him dumb; then his face worked convulsively in the
effort of speech.

"You have known all along--you have deliberately waited, intending to
deal me this blow?"

Margot bent her head gravely.

"Yes, I have waited! I am able to take care of myself, but I wished to
make quite sure that Ruth was safe. To-day I was glad to feel that it
was unnecessary to wait any longer. You will be interested to hear that
Miss Farrell is happily engaged to an old friend of the family. It
sometimes happens that the cleverest of schemers falls between two
stools. The position is undignified, but you have only yourself to
thank. I think we have nothing more to say to each other, Mr Druce. I
have the pleasure to wish you--Good-bye!"

She had touched the electric bell a moment before, and now the door
opened and a servant stood awaiting her bidding. In his presence it was
impossible for Victor to reply. For one moment he stood glaring at her,
a picture of impotent fury, then slowly turned and left the room. As
the house door closed behind him, the electric bell pealed once more,
and the servant turned back to the drawing-room.

"I am not at home in future to Mr Druce! Please remember!" said Lady
Margot.

Then her eye fell on the envelope of a telegram which the man was
carrying towards her. She tore it open, saw at a glance that it came
from Mrs Thornton at Raby, and read the following message:--

"Squire died suddenly last night. Husband, Druce, Melland, summoned to
funeral on Thursday. Will write details."

It was a duplicate of a message which was even then speeding on its way
to the two grand-nieces in Liverpool.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

BERNARD FARRELL'S HEIR.

"I'm not sorry; I'm _glad_!" cried Mollie, while a rain of tears rolled
down her cheeks. "He was old and was tired, and every