"My life," answered Pratt. "And let me tell you--you'll find me a first-class man--a good, faithful, honest servant. I'll do well by you and yours. You'll never regret it as long as you live. It'll be the best day's work you've ever done. I'll look after your son's interests--everybody's interests--as if they were my own. As indeed," he added, with a sly glance, "they will be." Mrs. Mallathorpe realized the finality, the resolve, in all this--but she made one more attempt. "Ten thousand!" she said. "Come, now!--think what ten thousand pounds in cash would mean to you!" "No--nor twenty thousand," replied Pratt. "I've made up my mind. I'll have my own terms. It's no use--not one bit of use--haggling or discussing matters further. I'm in possession of the will--and therefore of the situation, Mrs. Mallathorpe, you've just got to do what I tell you!" He got up from his chair, and going over to a side-table took from it a blotting-pad, some writing paper and a pencil. For the moment his back was turned--and again he did not see the look of almost murderous hatred which came into his visitor's eyes; had he seen and understood it, he might even then have reconsidered matters and taken Mrs. Mallathorpe's last offer. But the look had gone when he turned again, and he noticed nothing as he handed over the writing materials. "What are these for?" she asked. "You'll see in a moment," replied Pratt, reseating himself, and drawing his chair a little nearer her own. "Now listen--because it's no good arguing any more. You're going to give me that stewardship and agency. You'll simply tell your son that it's absolutely necessary to have a steward. He'll agree. If he doesn't, no matter--you'll convince him. Now, then, we must do it in a fashion that won't excite any suspicion. Thus--in a few days--say next week--you'll insert in the Barford papers--all three of them--the advertisement I'm going to dictate to you. We'll put it in the usual, formal phraseology. Write this down, if you please, Mrs. Mallathorpe." He dictated an advertisement, setting forth the requirements of which he had spoken, and Mrs. Mallathorpe obeyed him and wrote. She hated Pratt more than ever at that moment--there was a quiet, steadfast implacability about him that made her feel helpless. But she restrained all sign of it, and when she had done his bidding she looked at him as calmly as he looked at her. "I am to insert this in the Barford papers next week," she said. "And--what then?" "Then you'll get a lot of applications for the job," chuckled Pratt. "There'll be mine amongst them. You can throw most of 'em in the fire. Keep a few for form's sake. Profess to discuss them with Mr. Harper--but let the discussion be all on your side. I'll send two or three good testimonials--you'll incline to me from the first. You'll send for me. Your interview with me will be highly satisfactory. And you'll give me the appointment."