"Of course he does not. How could he know?" "Listen, Miss Rosamund. Tom Valentine shall fall in love with you in the ordinary and orthodox fashion, and shall propose to you in orthodox fashion. And you shall fall in love with him." "How can you bring that about?" "Never mind. Nothing shall be done to hurt your pride. My part in the matter is simple enough. I give you and Tom Valentine an opportunity of becoming acquainted with each other. I have a place at Putney--a charming place. You shall pay me a visit there." "I won't go," I said. "Yes, you will go--you will do what I tell you." "No," I repeated; "you ask me to Putney for an object. You mean to conquer me--I won't be conquered. I shall be very glad to visit you, if you will be kind enough to invite me on another occasion. But I am not going to meet Mr Valentine; I am not going to meet him, because at last I know the contents of Cousin Geoffrey's will." Mr Gray rubbed his hands with impatience. "You are doing wrong," he said stoutly. "You are offered a gift which will befriend you and yours, which will help your mother who is ill." "How do you know my mother is ill?" I asked testily. The lawyer gave me a piercing glance, he turned away. "Your mother is not well," he said evasively. It was curious, but that tone in his voice broke me down. I said-- "A visit to you, after all, involves nothing. Say no more about it--I will come." I went home that day feeling uncommonly weak and small. My excitement had run its course--the re-action had set in; I felt dead tired and languid. I had a slight headache too, which I knew would get worse by and by. In short, I was more or less in a state of collapse, and I felt that tears were not far from my eyes. It seemed to me that I had just been going through a very severe fight, and that I was in danger of being beaten. I knew this by the fact that in my collapsed condition I did not much care whether I was beaten or not. I arrived home to find matters a little more dismal even than usual. My mother's cough was so bad that the doctor had been sent for. He had prescribed (in those comfortable, unfaltering words which doctors are so fond of using) the Riviera as the sovereign remedy. My mother must leave the harsh east winds of our English spring, and go into the land of balmy breezes and colour and flowers. "You must go without delay, Mrs Lindley," the doctor said, and then he shook hands with her, and pocketed his fee, and went away.