“I understand the situation of affairs,” she said, “and I am obliged to you for your prompt attendance upon my summons, Mr. Atkins. I shall leave my money affairs in your hands. I desire my jointure to be paid into the bank and placed to my credit, so that I may draw upon it when I please. There is nothing more, I think.” “I would like to make a few inquiries about Miss Wynde, if you please, my lady,” said Atkins, with quiet firmness. “I understand that she is not at home. Has she not been summoned from her school since her father’s death?” “She has not,” answered Lady Wynde haughtily. “Pardon me, madam, but are you not about to summon her?” “I am not. Miss Wynde will remain this year at school. Her studies must be interrupted upon no account at this time.” “Not even by her father’s death?” asked Atkins bitterly. “Sir Harold mentioned to me his desire to have her at home--” “Sir Harold Wynde is no longer master of Hawkhurst,” interposed Lady Wynde, with increased superciliousness. “I believe, by the terms of the will, that I am mistress here during Neva’s minority. Let me tell you, Mr. Atkins, that I am my step-daughter’s sole personal guardian, and that I will submit to no dictation whatever in my treatment of the girl. If my husband had sufficient confidence in me to make me his daughter’s guardian, the trustees whom he himself appointed have no need nor right to comment upon my actions or interfere in my plans. Permit me to assure you that I will brook no interference, and if you try to sow dissension between Neva and me you are proving unfaithful to Sir Harold--as well as oblivious of your own interests.” Mr. Atkins sighed, and murmured an apology. He soon after took his leave, and drove away in the chaise in which he had come. His heart was very heavy and his face overcast as he emerged from the Hawkhurst grounds into the highway, and journeyed toward Canterbury. “It was a sorry day for Neva Wynde when her father died,” he murmured, looking back at the grand old seat--“a sorry day! This handsome black-eyed Lady Wynde, that everybody is praising for an angel of love and devotion to her husband, is at heart a demon! She means mischief, though I can’t see how. Poor Neva is booked for trouble!” Enough of honest Mr. Atkins’ sentiments had been apparent in his countenance to prejudice Lady Wynde against him, and to warn her that he comprehended something of her real character. As may be supposed, therefore, she did not again summon him to Hawkhurst.