"Poison with sugar round them, my dear. But that's all past. You are to be Clive's dear honoured wife. No more silly, girlish little bits of flirtation. You are not spoiled, my dear, only petted a little too much. That's all to be put behind us now, is it not?" "Yes, dear--yes, dear Mr Reed," she whispered, with her arms about his neck; and it was as if years had dropped away, and it was the little child the old man had petted and scolded a hundred times, asking forgiveness, as she whispered, "I will be good now, and love him very dearly." "That's like my own child," said the old man. "Now let's hear the true woman speak." "And do always what you wish," she said, looking him full in the eyes. "That's right--try," he said, drawing her down to kiss her, and then signing to her to go. "I'm tired," he said wearily. "Clive, take your little wife downstairs for a bit. Your hand, my boy. God bless you! Now, Doctor, I'll have an hour's sleep." The Doctor signed for the young people to go down; and as he took a chair by the bed's head, Grantham Reed turned his head away from the light, and went off into the great sleep as calmly as a tired child. CHAPTER ELEVEN. JESSOP PLAYS TRUMPS. Jessop Reed, when he left his father's bedroom, had gone straight down to the study, with his brow contracted and his heart full of bitterness, without seeing that he was closely watched, and that a pale, troubled face was raised over the top balustrade, which looked very dull and gloomy in the yellow light which streamed through the soot-darkened skylight panes. "So that's it," he said to himself, as he closed the door and threw himself into his father's great morocco-covered chair. "I'm nobody at all. The new king is to reign, and his name is Clive. I'm not even executor. No voice in anything; only the naughty boy to be punished. If I could only see that will!" His eyes wandered about the dark room with its conventional cases of books that were never read, and he looked at the cabinets and writing-table as if he expected to see some drawer open with the key already in it, so that he could take out the will and read it at his ease. But he shook his head, for he knew that his father was too business-like a man to be careless over so important a document. "At the lawyer's," he said to himself; "and there is no need. I know the old man too well; but I wonder what he has said. A few hundred a year for his naughty boy, and the dear, good, industrious youth, who always did as father wished, nearly everything." "I know," he said, half aloud, as he sat back in the chair and took out his cigar-case to open it and select a strong, black roll of the weed, bit off the end savagely, and spat it upon the carpet. "I suppose I may smoke here now without getting into grief. Poor old boy! his game's over; but, curse him, he might have played fair." He lit the cigar, and began to smoke and muse with his eyes half closed.