he thanked Copley for what he had done, and when they left
the library a few minutes later the arrangement was ratified. As they
made for the stable-yard Copley paused as if something had suddenly
occurred to him.

"There is one other matter," he said. "I didn't like to mention it
before for fear you should imagine I was forcing your hand. Now I can
speak freely. It relates to your daughter. When I lent you that money I
expected to have the privilege of calling myself your son-in-law. I
have not yet had anything definite from Miss Haredale; in fact, I am
afraid she dislikes me. But things can't go on like this, and you
promised to put in a good word for me. I daresay you will think it
strange, but I have set my heart on this marriage. It will be well,
perhaps, to let your daughter know how things stand. I fear she doesn't
comprehend the position. Tell her yourself."

There was no mistaking the ring of command in the last words.

"Certainly," Sir George promised. "I will do so without delay. I can't
for the life of me understand May's hesitancy. Almost every girl in the
county would jump at the chance of being Mrs. Raymond Copley. Besides,
May must marry a rich man. But leave it to me, Copley. Come over after
dinner this evening and see if we can't fix this thing up once and for
all."

Sir George returned to Haredale trying to feel on good terms with
himself and elated with the turn things had taken. But he could not
disguise that he had done wrong. He could not still the voice of
conscience. However, he was relieved to hear from his butler of the
departure of Brown on receipt of a telegram. The man had made certain
promises. He would call again later in the day, but had left his address
in case Sir George wanted to write to him. It was very correct and
discreet, no one was any the wiser, nobody had guessed about this black
disgrace, and in the fullness of his heart Sir George wrote a short note
to Brown enclosing a cheque. He was sealing up the envelope and putting
on the stamp when May entered.

She was fresh from her ride. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks
glowed. There was something in her gay abandon and her clear light of
innocence that jarred upon Sir George. Why should she have none of this
trouble? Why should she be outside of it all? To some extent, she was
the cause of the mischief. But for her Copley would never have lent Sir
George any money; but for her he would never have found himself in the
cl