"You haven't tackled Coryston yet?" said Sir Wilfrid, as he and Newbury walked back toward Hoddon Grey in the late afternoon, leaving Marcia and Lady Coryston in the clutches of a dressmaker, who had filled the drawing-room with a gleaming show of "English silks," that being Lady Coryston's special and peremptory command for the _trousseau_. "No. He hasn't even vouchsafed me a letter." Newbury laughed; but Sir Wilfrid perceived the hurt feeling which mingled with the laugh. "Absurd fellow!" said Sir Wilfrid. "His proceedings here amuse me a good deal--but they naturally annoy his mother. You have heard of the business with the Baptists?" Newbury had seen some account of it in the local paper. "Well now they've got their land--through Coryston. There always was a square piece in the very middle of the village--an _enclave_ belonging to an old maid, the daughter of a man who was a former butler of the Corystons, generations ago. She had migrated to Edinburgh, but Coryston has found her, got at her, and made her sell it--finding, I believe, the greater part of the money. It won't be long before he'll be laying the foundation-stone of the new Bethel--under his mother's nose." "A truly kind and filial thing to do!" said the young High Churchman, flushing. Sir Wilfrid eyed him slyly. "Moral--don't keep a conscience--political or ecclesiastical. There's nothing but mischief comes of it. And, for Heaven's sake, don't be a posthumous villain!" "What's that?" "A man who makes an unjust will, and leaves everything to his wife," said Sir Wilfrid, calmly. "It's played the deuce in this family, and will go on doing it." Whereupon the late Lord Coryston's executor produced an outline of the family history--up to date--for the benefit of Lady Coryston's future son-in-law. Newbury, who was always singularly ignorant of the town gossip on such matters, received it with amazement. Nothing could be more unlike the strictly traditional ways which governed his own family in matters of money and inheritance. "So Arthur inherits everything!" "Hm--does he?" said Sir Wilfrid. "But I thought--" "Wait and see, my dear fellow, wait and see. He will only marry Miss Glenwilliam over his mother's body--and if he does marry her he may whistle for the estates." "Then James will have them?" said Newbury, smiling. "Why not Marcia? She has as good a chance as anybody." "I hope not!" Newbury's tone showed a genuine discomfort. "What is Lady Coryston doing?" "About the Glenwilliam affair? Ah!--what isn't she doing?" said Sir Wilfrid, significantly. "All the same, she lies low." As he spoke, his eyes fell upon the hillside and on the white cottage of the Atherstones emerging from the wood. He pointed. "They will be there on Sunday fortnight--after the Martover meeting." "Who? The Glenwilliams?" Sir Wilfrid nodded. "And I am of opinion that something will happen. When two highly inflammable bodies approach each other, something generally does happen."