From that day forth she took to watching Tom and Jane more particularly than she had done before. Not satisfied with watching them herself, she induced her maid Emma to act as a spy on their actions. With her assistance, Mrs. McDermott was not long in gathering sufficient evidence to warrant her, as she thought, in seeking a private interview with her brother on the subject. “And high time too,” she said grimly to herself. “That minx of a Jane is carrying on a fine game under the rose. The arrant little flirt! And as for that young Bristow—of course it’s Jane’s money that he’s after. Titus must be as blind as a bat, or he would have seen it all long ago. I’ve no patience with him—none!” Having worked herself up to the requisite pitch, downstairs she bounced and burst into the Squire’s private room—commonly called his study. She burst into the room, but halted suddenly the moment she had crossed the threshold. The Squire was there, but not alone. Tom Bristow was with him. The two were in deep consultation—so much she could see at a glance—bending towards each other over the little table, and speaking, as it seemed to her, almost in a whisper. The Squire turned with a gesture of impatience at the opening of the door. “Oh, is that you, Fanny?” he said. “I’ll see you presently; I’m busy with Mr. Bristow, just now.” She went out without a word, but her face flushed deeply, and an evil look came into her eyes. “That’s the way you treat your only sister, Mr. Titus Culpepper, is it?” she muttered under her breath. “Not a penny of my money shall ever come to you or yours.” Tom had walked over to Pincote that morning to see the Squire respecting the building going on at Prior’s Croft. When their conference had come to an end, said the Squire to Tom: “You know that scrubby bit of ground of mine—Knockley Holt?” Tom started. “Yes, I know it very well,” he said. “It is rather singular that you should be the first to speak about it; because it was partly about that very piece of ground that I am here this morning to see you.” “Ay—ay—how’s that?” said the Squire, suddenly brightening up from the apathy that had begun to creep over him so often of late. “Why, it doesn’t seem to be of much use to you, and I thought that perhaps you wouldn’t mind letting me have a lease of it.” The Squire laughed heartily: a thing he had not done for several weeks. “And I had just made up my mind to sell it, and was going to ask your advice about it!” Tom’s face flushed suddenly. “And do you really think of selling Knockley Holt?” he asked, with his keen bright eyes bent on the Squire’s face more keenly than usual. “Of course I think of selling it, or I shouldn’t have said what I have said. As things have gone with me, the money would be more useful to me than the land is ever likely to be. It won’t fetch much I know, but then I didn’t give much for it, and whoever may get it won’t have much of a bargain.” “Perhaps you wouldn’t object to have me for a purchaser?”