felt a disposition
to smite Copley hip and thigh; he was thinking of his own position and
future.

"And if I refuse?"

Copley shrugged his shoulders eloquently.

"In that case, there is no more to be said or done," he answered. "I
would help you if I could, but I am powerless just now. But perhaps you
will think better of it. I am sure you will be tired of that man in
possession by the end of a week."

CHAPTER XXX

AN ULTIMATUM

Copley rose as if the interview were over, and he had done all he could
for his friend. But Sir George lingered. He stood gazing into the fire
thoughtfully and moodily. Copley's last shaft had gone home. Sir
George's whole nature revolted from spending a week in the company of
the man in possession. He wanted to gain time, to have an opportunity to
consider matters, and, above all, to get rid of the incubus which, in
his mind's eye, he could see seated patiently in the library at Haredale
Park. Yet he also knew what he ought to have done. He ought either to
have knocked Copley down out of hand, or to have walked out of the house
with a curt intimation that he and Copley must be strangers in the
future.

But, like the weak man he was, when the pinch came he did neither of
these things. It would never have occurred to him to assert that he was
a man of honour. All the world had taken it for granted, and in this
opinion Sir George shared. But, on the other hand, he was face to face
with disgrace, and in a few days would be homeless and penniless, a mark
for the finger of scorn, and the object of pity of those whom he had
looked down upon from a lofty standpoint. But was there, after all, any
great harm in what Copley suggested? Scores of owners of horses had done
such things before, and he had a genuine excuse for drawing the pen
through the name of the Blenheim colt, since it had fallen ill. If other
people benefited by the knowledge, it was no concern of his. If the colt
were no better at the end of a fortnight, he could be scratched and
things go on as they were. Besides, the colt was a good one, and in the
autumn there would be every chance of winning the St. Leger with him.
This reasoning was all very specious and wrong, but it wasn't long
before Sir George had justified himself, as Copley felt sure he would
do.

"Wait a little," Sir George said. "You can't expect me to make up my
mind at once. I must have time to think it over. But I can't do anything
as long as that man i