The Squire was famed for his frank ease of manner among friends and tenants of whatsoever degree; but he seemed now cold and constrained. A look of displeasure was stamped on his brow; and it grew into a frown at the sight of a second girl, who had followed him in. With her the mother's hardness and commonness were reproduced, and the fringe was obtrusively prominent. "Good morning," he said curtly to her, and then turned to the mother. "Winnie is not looking well." "Not likely in this dismal hole," declared the last corner. Jane Morris was sure to thrust in a word, if she had the chance. "The Norfolk doctor said she never ought to be in a cold climate; and this is going to be cold enough in all conscience. He said she ought to go to the sea before next winter." "It's dry and healthy here," Mrs. Morris put in. Mr. Stirling turned from Jane. "How is Raye getting on?" "Like a house on fire, he says," declared the irrepressible Jane. Mr. Stirling put up one hand with a dignified gesture. "Will you please allow your mother to speak for herself. Can you give me a few minutes in another room, Mrs. Morris?" "There!" Winnie said with a sigh, as they disappeared. She went to the stiff old-fashioned sofa, from which she was seldom long absent. "Now you have driven him off!" "Rubbish!" shortly answered Jane. "He and mother always have a business talk." "What made you say that about the climate,—and about my going to the sea? It was like asking him to send me." "Well, why shouldn't he? I wish he'd send you and me together. Anything to get away from this hole." "We have no right to expect him to do things for us." "I think we have. Mother saved Miss Stirling's life by her nursing. And everybody says he just lives for Miss Stirling." "All those years and years ago!" "That makes no difference. If it wasn't for mother he'd have no niece now. I think he ought to be grateful; and I don't see that he can do too much in return. He might just as well send you and me to Brighton for a month." "Jane!—don't!—how can you? Don't speak so loud! And I can't think how you can talk so." The small delicate face flushed with feeling. "It is just because he has been so good to us—such a real friend—that I can't bear to think of asking him to do anything more." Jane mumbled something. "I only know I can't abide the place," she added. "I'm sick of it." "Why, we've not been here six weeks." "It feels like six months," Jane yawned vociferously. "You are always going into Lynnbrooke." "Couldn't exist if I didn't. I just hate this farm." Winnie lifted an entreating finger; and Jane sank into sullen silence. Beyond a shut door two voices alternated. "I believe they're talking about us," muttered Jane. And she was not mistaken. CHAPTER V A Secret Agreement