"Would you like to upset them again? Do, if you like. I'll pick them up." His eyes mocked her tenderly, and before she could reply he had seized her disengaged hand and kissed it. Then he stood up. "Now I'm going. Good-by." "How much mischief will you get into to-day?" she asked, in a rather stifled voice. "It's Sunday--so there isn't so much chance as usual. First item." He checked them on his fingers. "Go to Redcross Farm, see Betts, and--if necessary--have a jolly row with Edward Newbury--or his papa. Second, Blow up Price--my domestic blacksmith--you know!--the socialist apostle I rescued from my mother's clutches and set up at Patchett, forge and all--blow him up sky-high, for evicting a widow woman in a cottage left him by his brother, with every circumstance of barbarity. There's a parable called, I believe, 'The Unjust Servant,' which I intend to rub into him. Item, No. 3, Pitch into the gentleman who turned out the man who voted for Arthur--the Radical miller--Martover gent--who's coming to see me at three this afternoon, to ask what the deuce I mean by spreading reports about him. Shall have a ripping time with him!" "Why, he's one of the Baptists who were on the platform with you yesterday." Marion pointed to the local paper lying on the grass. "Don't care. Don't like Baptists, except when they're downtrodden." A vicious kick given to a stone on the lawn emphasized the remark. "Well, good-by. Shall look in at Coryston this afternoon to see if there's anything left of my mother." And off he went whistling. As he did so, the head and profile of a young lady richly adorned with red-gold hair might have been seen in the upper window. The owner of it was looking after Coryston. "Why didn't you make him stay?" said Enid Glenwilliam, composedly, as she came out upon the lawn and took a seat on the grass in front of the summer-house. "On the contrary, I sent him away." "By telling him whom we were expecting? Was it news to him?" "Entirely. He hoped you would treat Lady Coryston kindly." Then, with a sudden movement, Marion looked up from her mending, and her eyes--challenging, a little stern,--struck full on her companion. Enid laughed, and, settling herself into the garden chair, she straightened and smoothed the folds of her dress, which was of a pale-blue crape and suited her tall fairness and brilliance to perfection. "That's good! I shouldn't have minded his staying at all." "You promised to see Lady Coryston alone--and she has a right to it," said Marion, with emphasis. "Has she? I wonder if she has a right to anything?" said Enid Glenwilliam, absently, and lifting a stalk of grass, she began to chew it in silence while her gaze wandered over the view. "Have you at all made up your mind, Enid, what you are going to say?" "How can I, till I know what _she's_ going to say?" laughed Miss Glenwilliam, teasingly. "But of course you know perfectly well."