The door shut on them. It was nearly dark--the sun setting luridly and throwing a coppery light across the wall. The oak bureau filled one corner of the tiny room; turned full to the gaping hearth was a high-backed oak chair, with the initials “J. J. 1625” cut into its back. An oak chest beneath the window, carved also, and bearing the initials “J. J. 1604,” with a coat of arms, showed that the Jaynes had in the past been even more important people than they were now. A shadow passed the window. Edred, a dog at his heels, the usual fat cigar in his mouth, shouted through, saying that he’d stroll up to Turle and tell Nancy that he couldn’t go to Malling on Thursday. He gave Pamela a significant look and moved off. The copper light burned on the wall again. There was a strong scent of jasmine; the wan white blossoms looked in at the open window. Pamela sat in the chair by the grate, her head against the carved wood. “I wanted to speak to you about my--about Edred,” she said. “I’m going to speak to him myself,” Jethro returned promptly. “He oughtn’t to be loafing about here like this. The place is big enough for all of us, but it’s bad for a man to be out of collar so long.” “He’s very anxious to get something to do. He is full of ideas. He is very clever.” Jethro did not answer. He was sitting on the end of the chest, his back to the window, one foot in a heavy shoe idly dangling. His clean-cut, rugged face was in shadow; her guilty conscience made her fancy that his mouth was relentless. “He doesn’t want to go to sea again,” she straggled on. “His nerves have been tried--you can understand that?” “What _does_ he want?” She heard the wicket-gate creak. Through the summer haze and the misty, heavy-leaved trees she saw him pass along the road; white dog at his heels, burning tobacco between his lips. “He wants two hundred pounds. He would go away from Folly Corner; never come back, never trouble you for a penny more, for a meal, even.” Jethro’s light eyes opened. They looked to her like filings of steel in the uncertain light. His voice came through the twilight suspiciously. “Why does he talk like that? He is your brother, isn’t he? I want my wife’s brother to have the run of my house whenever he’s in the neighborhood.” “He is afraid that he has trespassed on your hospitality too long.” How parrot-like her voice was, how stilted her words! She burst out feverishly: “Give him the two hundred pounds--if you love me. Let him go at once. If he delays he may lose his chance. I don’t understand business, but he will explain it to you; it is something that will not wait.” “He could come back for the wedding.” “We shouldn’t want him; we could manage without him, I mean. He would not be able to get away; business--a new business would be too engrossing.” “Two hundred pounds is a good lump.” “But to set him up in life--to get rid of him.”