"I should like," she said, "to think it over till to-morrow morning; it will be better, for supposing I decide to accept, I shall know a good deal more of this than I know now." "Very well," he said, "only I should strongly advise you to accept." "One hundred a year," she repeated thoughtfully. "Perhaps you will have changed your mind by to-morrow." "There is no fear of it," he assured her quietly. "Write it down," she said. "I think that I shall agree." "Don't you trust me, Blanche?" "It is a business transaction," she said coolly; "you have made it one yourself." He tore a sheet from his pocket-book and scribbled a few lines upon it. "Will that do?" he asked her. She read it through and folded it carefully up. "It will do very nicely," she said with a quiet smile. "And now I must go back as quickly as I can." They walked to the hall door; Lord Wolfenden's carriage had come back from the station and was waiting for him. "How are you going?" he asked. She shook her head. "I must hire something, I suppose," she said. "What beautiful horses! Do you see, Hector remembers me quite well; I used to take bread to him in the stable when I was at Deringham Hall. Good old man!" She patted the horse's neck. Wolfenden did not like it, but he had no alternative. "Won't you allow me to give you a lift?" he said, with a marked absence of cordiality in his tone; "or if you would prefer it, I can easily order a carriage from the hotel." "Oh! I would much rather go with you, if you really don't mind," she said. "May I really?" "I shall be very pleased," he answered untruthfully. "I ought perhaps to tell you that the horses are very fresh and don't go well together: they have a nasty habit of running away down hill." She smiled cheerfully, and lifting her skirts placed a dainty little foot upon the step. "I detest quiet horses," she said, "and I have been used to being run away with all my life. I rather like it." Wolfenden resigned himself to the inevitable. He took the reins, and they rattled off towards Deringham. About half-way there, they saw a little black figure away on the cliff path to the right. "It is Mr. Blatherwick," Wolfenden said, pointing with his whip. "Poor little chap! I wish you'd leave him alone, Blanche!" "On one condition," she said, smiling up at him, "I will!" "It is granted already," he declared. "That you let me drive for just a mile!" He handed her the reins at once, and changed seats. From the moment she took them, he could see that she was an accomplished whip. He leaned back and lit a cigarette. "Blatherwick's salvation," he remarked, "has been easily purchased."