The time had come, so Mrs. Tetteridge had decided, for a move onward. The final destination, that country mansion standing in its own grounds, that she had determined upon, was still not yet in sight. Something half-way was her present idea, a large, odd-shaped house to the south of St. Aldys Church. It had once been a convent, but had been adapted to domestic purposes by an eccentric old East India trader who had married three wives. All his numerous progeny lived with him, and he had needed a roomy place. It was too big and too ugly for most people and had been empty for years. It belonged to a client of Mowbray’s and it occurred to Mrs. Tetteridge that he might consider even an inadequate rent better than nothing at all. At her request Anthony met her there one afternoon with the key. The rusty iron gate squeaked when Anthony pushed it open. They crossed a paved yard and mounted a flight of stone steps. The lock of the great oak door growled and grated when Anthony tried to turn the key. But it yielded at last, and a cold chill air crept up from the cellars and wrapped them round. Mrs. Tetteridge had difficulty in hiding her enthusiasm. The long tunnel-like rooms on the ground floor might have been built for class rooms. On the first floor was the great drawing-room. It would serve for receptions and speech-making. There were bedrooms for a dozen boarders if they had luck. The high-walled garden behind was bare save for decrepit trees and overgrown bushes that could easily be removed. A few cartloads of gravel would transform it into an ideal playground. They returned to the ground floor. At the end of the stone corridor Mrs. Tetteridge found a door she had not previously noticed. It led to a high vaulted room with a huge black marble mantelpiece representing two elephants supporting a small-sized temple. Opposite was a high-arched window overlooking the churchyard. Mrs. Tetteridge surveyed it approvingly. “This will be Emy’s study,” she said in a tone of decision. She was speaking to herself. She had forgotten Anthony. Anthony was leaning against one of the elephants. “Poor devil!” he said. Mrs. Tetteridge looked up. There was a curious little smile about her pretty mouth. “You don’t like me,” she said to Anthony. “I should,” answered Anthony, “quite well, if I didn’t like Emy.” She came to the other end of the mantelpiece, resting her hand upon it. “I’ve got you here alone,” she said with a laugh, “and I’m going to have it out with you. I’m sorry you don’t like me because I like you very much. But that isn’t the important thing. I don’t want you taking Emy’s side against me. You’ve got great influence over him, and I’m afraid of you.” Anthony was about to answer. She made a gesture.