Patiently George told her she needn't worry about money again. She had a sister who years ago had married and moved West to a farm that was not particularly flourishing. Undoubtedly her sister would be glad to have her and her generous allowance. So his will overcame his mother's reluctance to help herself. She glanced up. "Who is that?" He listened. The women in the kitchen were standing again. Light feet crossed the floor. "Maybe somebody from the big house," his mother whispered. "They sent Simpson last night." For a moment the entire building was as silent as the oblong box. Then the door opened. Sylvia Planter slipped in and closed the door. George caught his breath, studying her as she hesitated, accustoming herself to the insufficient light. She wore a broad-brimmed hat that gave her the charm and the grace of a portrait by Gainsborough. When she recognized him, indeed, she seemed as permanently caught as a portrait. "Miss Sylvia!" his mother worshipped. "They told me I would find you here," Sylvia said, uncertainly. "I didn't know----" She broke off, biting her lip. George strolled around the oblong box to the window, turning there with a slow bow. Even across that desolate, dead shell, the obstinate distaste and the challenge were lively in her glance. "It was very kind of you to come," he said. But he was sorry she had come. To see him in such surroundings was a stimulation of the ugly memories he had struggled to destroy. He read her instinct to hurt him now as she had hurt the impertinent man, Morton, who had lived in this house. "When one of our people is in trouble----" she began, deliberately. "I thought I might be of some help to your mother." Even over the feeling of security George had just tried to give her the old menace reached the uneasy woman. "You--you remember him, Miss Sylvia?" "Very well," Sylvia answered. "He used to be my groom." "The title comes from you," George said, dryly. His mother's glance fluttered from one to the other. What did she expect--Old Planter stalking in to carry out his threats? "After all these years I scarcely knew him myself." Sylvia's colour heightened. He appraised her rising temper. "Bad servants," he said, "linger in good employers' memories." "I know, Miss Sylvia," his mother burst out, "that he wasn't to come back here, but----" She unclasped her nervous hands. One indicated the silent cause of his disobedience. George moved toward the door. Sylvia stepped quickly aside. He felt, like a physical wave, her desire to hurt. "At such a time," she said, "it's natural he should come back to his home. I think my father would be glad to have him with his mother."