Sir George returned to Haredale trying to feel on good terms with himself and elated with the turn things had taken. But he could not disguise that he had done wrong. He could not still the voice of conscience. However, he was relieved to hear from his butler of the departure of Brown on receipt of a telegram. The man had made certain promises. He would call again later in the day, but had left his address in case Sir George wanted to write to him. It was very correct and discreet, no one was any the wiser, nobody had guessed about this black disgrace, and in the fullness of his heart Sir George wrote a short note to Brown enclosing a cheque. He was sealing up the envelope and putting on the stamp when May entered. She was fresh from her ride. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks glowed. There was something in her gay abandon and her clear light of innocence that jarred upon Sir George. Why should she have none of this trouble? Why should she be outside of it all? To some extent, she was the cause of the mischief. But for her Copley would never have lent Sir George any money; but for her he would never have found himself in the clutches of Absalom & Co. This was as specious as his other moralizing, and he never imagined that he had fallen into a trap set by Copley. What he wanted was some one to vent his anger upon. "Where have you been?" he asked irritably. "I have been looking for you everywhere. I have just been having a conversation about you with Mr. Copley. He wants to know----" "He already does know," May said coldly. "I thought I had made that quite clear. I shall be glad if you will not allude to this again. It is most distasteful to me." Sir George brought his fist with a bang on the table. "You are a fool," he cried. "I beg pardon, but I can't think of any other word. You don't seem to realize what obligations we are under to Mr. Copley. Do you know that if he liked he could turn us out of the house to-morrow? Do you know that even this morning he has saved us from a great disgrace? And he has done all this out of affection for you. I can assure you that Mr. Raymond Copley is not the man to be played with." "My dear father," May protested, "why this violence? I don't in the least want to play with Mr. Copley." "Oh, this is no joking matter. You ought to be proud to think that a man like that is ready to lay his wealth at your feet. Now, I want you to understand that if you treat him in this way he will very likely teach you a lesson. It is no use beating about the bush. We are in his hands. And, therefore, you must marry him." "Must, my dear father. Surely----" "Oh, I am not going to listen to any more. I won't argue with you. You are either going to marry Mr. Copley or I wash my hands of you altogether. I will not be ruined for the mere whim of a girl. Now you quite understand me? If this thing isn't settled to-morrow, Haredale will be no place for you." CHAPTER XXXI A POINT-BLANK REFUSAL