“Do that and all will be well. I shall leave you now, and smoke a cigar on the terrace. Give me a call, if you want me.” Lady Pomfret looked steadily at him; he smiled at her reassuringly. As he was selecting a cigar he heard her voice. “You mean exactly what you say, Geoffrey? I am to make Ben see himself as I see him?” “Yes.” He lit his cigar, puffed at it, and bent down, chuckling, to tap her cheek. Standing at the door he said a last word: “When you have pulverised him, put your dear head out o’ window and beckon to me. I’ll nip in to receive his apology. And don’t forget! I’m doing this for you.” * * * * * Left alone, Lady Pomfret leaned her head upon her hand. She knew what had passed between master and man, just the bare recital of the facts from the Squire’s mouth without further comment from him. The fact that he had invited comment and seemed, indeed, to shrink from it, made things a little easier for her. Like Lionel, he wished to spare her pain and anxiety. That was obvious. Also he considered that he could deal with the situation without her. But had he an inkling of her real feelings? And when he learnt the truth, how would he take it? She heard a small clock chime the half-hour. A minute later Fishpingle and Charles came in. Charles carried several books. Fishpingle was dressed in a dark grey suit, and she noticed at once that he had ceased to be the butler. He bore himself with quiet dignity, but his face indicated vigils, being very pale and haggard. Charles placed the books upon the desk and retired. Lady Pomfret rose. “My poor Ben!” She held out her hand with a gracious gesture. He took it reverently, bowing over it. She saw that he was too moved to speak. Placidly she continued: “You look worn. Did you get any sleep last night?” “I was busy with the books, my lady,” he replied evasively. She sighed. “I have not slept at all. Sir Geoffrey has asked me to see you first.” She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words slowly. “He has laid upon me a strange injunction.” “Strange, my lady?” “Yes. For the first time in my life, Ben, I shall try to obey not the spirit but the letter of that injunction. Please sit down! How tired you look!” He sat down facing her with his back to the great chimney-piece. As he did so, she glanced at the only family portrait in the room, a picture which hung above the mantelpiece, a full-length likeness of Sir Rupert Pomfret, the Squire’s father, taken in hunting-kit. It had been painted shortly before his death, when he was still a young man. Lady Pomfret turned her eyes upon Fishpingle as she sat down upon the sofa. She murmured almost to herself: “It’s an extraordinary thing, Ben, but you have served the Pomfrets so long and faithfully that you have actually come to look like them.” And again she glanced at the portrait. Fishpingle replied formally: “It may be so, my lady.” “It is so. Have you seen Master Lionel?”