"I wish to know the sum that will see you clear and enable you to tear down those white posters at the gates, and those on the mill." Stanmore Anson drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, glanced over it, then named the amount. "Very good," said Stranleigh, decisively. "I'll pay that for the mill and the ten acres." "They are not worth it," said Anson. "Wait till November, and even though you outbid the Trust, you'll get it at a lower figure." "We'll make the mill worth it. You may retain the residence and the rest of the property." "There is but one proviso," said the old man. "I wish to name the manager." "I regret I cannot agree to that, Mr. Anson, I have already chosen the manager, and guarantee that he will prove efficient." "I'll forego your generous offer of the house and property if you will allow me to appoint the manager." "I am sorry, Mr. Anson, but you touch the only point on which I cannot give way." "Very well," cried Anson, angrily, his eyes ablaze. "The arrangement is off." Both young men saw that Stanmore Anson was indeed difficult to deal with, as his ancestors had been in many a hard-fought battle. "Wait a moment! Wait a moment!" exclaimed Challis. "This will never do. It is absurd to wreck everything on a point so trivial. I am the man whom Mr. Johnson wishes to make manager. I now refuse to accept the position, but if the bargain is completed, I'll give Mr. Anson and his manager all the assistance and advice they care to receive from me, and that without salary." "Be quiet, Challis!" cried Stranleigh. "Challis! Challis!" interrupted the old man, gazing fiercely at his junior. "Is your name Challis?" "Yes, sir." "You're not my son-in-law?" "I am, sir." "I did you a great injustice," admitted Anson. "No man has a right to deprive another of his livelihood. I have bitterly regretted it. It is you I wish appointed manager." "Challis," said Stranleigh, "take the car, and bring your wife. Say her father wishes to see her." Challis disappeared, and in an incredibly short space of time, during which Anson and Stranleigh chatted together, the door opened, and Gertrude Challis came in. "Father," she cried, "Jim says he's going to scrap all the machinery in the factory. Shall we throw our differences on that scrap-heap?" The old man gathered her to his breast, and kissed her again and again. He could not trust his voice. [Illustration: "'Shall we throw our differences on that scrap-heap?'"] IV.--THE MAD MISS MATURIN. "Would you like to meet the most beautiful woman in America?" asked Edward Trenton of his guest. Lord Stranleigh drew a whiff or two from the favourite pipe he was smoking, and the faint suggestion of a smile played about his lips. "The question seems to hint that I have not already met her," he said at last. "Have you?" "Of course." "Where?" "In every town of any size I ever visited."