It was a perfect signature, though rather bolder and larger than usual, and “Excellent!” Arthur cried in a tone of relief, which betrayed the anxiety he had felt. “Good! It could not be better! Well done, sir!” He removed the paper as he spoke, but in the act looked sharply across at Josina. The girl’s eyes were upon him, but her face was in shadow, and he could not read its expression. He hesitated a moment, the paper in his hand, then he laid it on the table beside him—and out of her reach. “Right!” said the Squire. “Then, now for business. Let’s have the lease. My hand’s in now.” Arthur laid it before him, and guided his hand to the place. “Is there ink enough in the pen?” the old man asked. “Quite enough, sir. It won’t do to blot it.” “Right, lad, right!” The Squire wrote his name. “Now the counterpart!” he continued briskly, holding the quill suspended. Arthur put it before him. He signed it, steadily and clearly. “All right?” he asked. “Quite right. Couldn’t be better, sir.” “Then, thank God that’s done!” He sank back in his chair, and raised his hand to take off his glasses, then remembered himself. “Pheugh!” he said, “it’s a job when you can’t see.” But it was plain that he was pleased with himself. Arthur turned to Josina. “Your turn next!” he said; and he gave her the pen. He put the lease before her, and pointed to the place where she was to sign. She was not as nervous as Miss Peacock, but she was anxious to make no mistake. “Here?” she asked. “Yes, there. Be careful.” Arthur snuffed the candles, and as he did so he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes searching the shadows. Then he leant over her, watching her pen. She wrote her name, slowly and carefully. “Good!” he said, and he removed the document. He set another before her, and silently showed her with his finger where to write. She wrote her name. “Now here,” he said. “Here! But wait! Is there enough ink in the pen?” She dipped the pen in the inkpot to make sure, and shook it, that there might be no danger of a blot. Again she wrote her name. “Capital!” he said. His voice betrayed relief. “That’s done, and well done! Couldn’t be better. Now it’s my turn.” “But”—Jos looked up in doubt, the pen still in her hand—“but I’ve signed three, Arthur! I thought there were but two.” “Three!” exclaimed the Squire, turning his head, his attention caught. “Damme!”—peevishly—“what mess has the girl made now?” It was part of his creed that in matters of business no woman was to be trusted to do the smallest thing as it should be done. But Arthur only laughed. “No mess, sir,” he said. “Only a goose of herself! She has witnessed your trial signature as well as the others. That’s all. I thought I could make her do it, and she did it as solemnly as you like!” He laughed a little loudly. “I shall keep that Jos.”