He was quite aware that, in the ordinary course of things--his grandson being out of the running--his niece's claim upon him ought to have had priority of that of everybody else. And he told himself that it should have had if only Nell had been a clear-headed, sensible, businesslike woman of the type of Onoria Bullivant. Unfortunately, she was nothing of the kind. Instead, her head was crammed full of high-flown, sentimental, and quixotic notions (he prided himself on having read her thoroughly), and he felt morally sure that if he were to leave her any large lump sum, say fifteen or twenty thousand pounds, by way of legacy, she would be quite capable, when she found that Master Evan had been left out in the cold, of making over a big slice, perhaps even the whole of it, for the benefit of the brat. Such a result as that must on no account be allowed to come to pass. What he would do was, to invest a certain number of thousands in her name in the Funds, just enough to bring in about three hundred a year, and allow her the interest to live upon. With such an income she could not do much harm, or what the Squire designated to himself as harm. Should she be fool enough to take the boy to live with her, and assume the responsibility of his future, why, she was welcome to do so. But owner of Stanbrook and Barrowmead, and of his latest purchase, that big property on the Yorkshire border, his grandson never should be. Thus it one day came to pass that Mrs. Bullivant received a note written by Andry Luce, asking her, if convenient, to drive over next day to Stanbrook in time for luncheon, and take her son with her. The widow was a shrewd woman, and it seemed to her that such a note was capable of but one interpretation, and as she drove through the country lanes next day on her way to the Hall her heart beat high with hopes, which, however wanting in substance they might be, were none the less _couleur de rose_. In point of fact, before causing his testamentary dispositions to be recorded in black and white the Squire was desirous of taking stock of the youngster whom he was proposing to constitute his heir. If he should prove to be a weak, puling child, or betray any signs of delicacy of constitution, why, in that case that there would be good reason for reconsidering his decision. As it turned out, the Squire had no cause for uneasiness on that score. Young Gavin Bullivant, who had just entered on his fifth year, looked as strong and sturdy as an oak sapling. He was a bright-eyed, apple-cheeked lad, both inquisitive and acquisitive by natural disposition, and not knowing what shyness meant. He was very like his mother, but more in expression than features, and at times one caught a far-off hint of something in his face, at once hard and cunning, which seemed curiously out of keeping with his years. It was as though a very old man--and not a good old man either--was peering at you from behind a beautiful mask of childhood.