Mr. Roberts, with some
hesitation.

"At any rate he is not to have Appleslocombe, and he must be made
to go. How is it to be done?" Mr. Roberts raised his eyebrows. "I
suppose there must be some means of turning an objectionable resident
out of a house."

"The police, of course, could carry him out--with a magistrate's
order. He would have to be treated like any other vagrant."

"That would be disagreeable."

"Very disagreeable, my lord," said Mr. Roberts. "My lord should be
saved from that if possible."

"How if we gave him nothing to eat?" said Lord Hampstead.

"That would be possible; but it would be troublesome. What if he
resolved to remain and be starved? It would be seeing which would
hold out the longer. I don't think my lord would have the heart to
keep him twenty-four hours without food. We must try and save my lord
from what is disagreeable as much as we can." Lord Hampstead was in
accord as to this, but did not quite see his way how to effect it.
There were still, however, more than three weeks to run before the
day fixed for the chaplain's exit, and Mr. Roberts suggested that it
might in that time be fully brought home to the man that his L200 a
year would depend on his going. "Perhaps you'd better leave him to
me, my lord," said Mr. Roberts; "and I shall deal with him better
when you're not here."

When the time came for afternoon tea Mr. Greenwood, perceiving that
no invitation came to him from the Marchioness, sent a note up to her
asking for the favour of an interview. "He had a few words to say,
and would be much obliged to her if she would allow him to come to
her." On receiving this she pondered for some time before she could
make up her mind as to what answer she should give. She would have
been most anxious to do as she had already heard that Lord Hampstead
had done, and decline to meet him at all. She could not analyze her
own feelings about the man, but had come during the last few days to
hold him in horror. It was as though something of the spirit of the
murderer had shown itself to her in her eyes. She had talked glibly,
wickedly, horribly of the death of the man who had seemed to stand
in her way. She had certainly wished for it. She had taught herself
to think, by some ultra-feminine lack of logic, that she had really
been injured in that her own eldest boy had not been born heir to his
father's titles. She had found it necessary to have some recipient
for her griefs. Her own siste