If, by any chance, Aurea cared for him, and saw in him something more than her aunts’ civil man-servant, why should he not present himself in his true character? The gruff replies in imitation of Tom Hogben were surely an unnecessary handicap? Anyway, he had let himself go on the night of the accident, hustling and ordering on the spur of the moment, sending Miss Morven for water, Miss Susan for wood--though no doubt they were both too much upset to have noticed anything besides the tragedy. Possibly a change of manner would make a difference, and Aurea was so bright, and so wonderfully clear-sighted, she might divine something of his situation, and wait. “Wait!” repeated incredulous common sense, “wait eighteen months till he had cast off his shackles!” On the other hand, Bertie Woolcock loomed large. Undoubtedly he would not wait, nor would Aurea’s own relations. The Rector himself was a good, unworldly old scribbler, but the people that mattered, such as Miss Parrett and General and Mrs. Morven, they would never allow their niece to refuse many thousands a year and Woolcock, in order to keep faith with a mysterious and penniless chauffeur. And Bertie undoubtedly meant business; he was continually appearing at the Rectory or the Manor, charged with paltry messages and unnecessary notes--any excuse or none served him! He even attended evening church, where he openly and shamelessly worshipped the Rector’s daughter, and not the Rector’s God. As Wynyard contemplated Woolcock’s position and the desperate obstacles that lay in his own path, he picked many blades of grass. Naturally he disliked his rival; he remembered him when he was in the upper fourth at Eton, a big, loutish fellow--not of course in Pop--and an awful duffer at games; who never did anything for himself, that others could be bullied into doing for him. “Woolly” was now a stout, sleek, well-groomed man of thirty, with a heavy red face, a lethargic manner, and--in the company of respectable women--a great talent for silence. Supposing that Aurea was talked over? Westmere was a temptation. No; he could not face such a hideous possibility--yet he was penniless and gagged. Woolly, a rich man and free; he, a prisoner to a promise and in a false position--a position which compelled him to touch his cap, not only to his lady-love, but to his rival! and the latter salutation made him feel murderous.