‘He shall have a good report to take back to young Torwood. He shan’t think I boast in vain, when I talk of the improvements I have made in the house. I can see he means to be reasonable, but I don’t choose to be yielded to just because I’m a woman. I wish him to see what I really have done, and appeal to his sense of justice. And I want him to sink me that new well, and to put continuous iron fencing in place of that old wooden paling that’s all broken down. Nothing like being a good tenant for making a good landlord; and if he has any sense of the fitness of things, I shall get my own way.’ Miss Marjory certainly seemed to go about with the air of one used to her own way; and after Horace had gone to the station, she repaired to her own room, to make herself neat and attractive in the stranger’s eyes. ‘Nothing like producing a good impression at first,’ she remarked to herself, as she arranged her cap and the dainty lace ruffles round her neck and wrists. Miss Marjory always looked well dressed, even when going about her garden-work in what she termed her ‘chrysalis-shell;’ in her black satin and old lace she was undeniably handsome, and a model specimen of a well-bred, well-to-do English gentlewoman. She heard the dogcart drive up to the door, and the sharp ring at the bell; and knew that the stranger would be waiting for her alone in the drawing-room. Ethel had gone to a tennis-party, and Horace was due at the Minster for evensong. On the whole, she was pleased that this was the case. She tripped lightly down the wide staircase, and entered the room so noiselessly that the young man, standing beside the window, which commanded the fine view of open country, did not at once perceive her, and she paused for a moment before advancing to greet her guest. She had come in with a courteous smile of anticipated greeting upon her face, such as a hostess is wont to bestow upon a stranger she is glad to welcome; but when her eyes fell upon the tall, well-made figure, the tawny head and decisive features, a great surprise flashed over her face, and the smile changed to one of beaming pleasure. ‘Mr. Torwood!’ she exclaimed, with an accent of extreme gratification and pleasure. ‘Torrington Torwood himself, whom I saw last a baby in long-clothes! This is a delightful surprise! Are you better, then? I am so glad! How delighted everyone here will be to make your acquaintance!’ She shook hands warmly with the young man; but he, although a pleasant smile, and rather a humorous one, shone out of his eyes, did not exactly respond to the warmness of Miss Marjory’s greeting. ‘Pardon me, Miss Descartes; if you have not seen my friend Torwood since his long-clothes days, it is hardly to be expected that you could recognise him. Did I not make it plain that I am merely his substitute, Philip Debenham?’ Miss Marjory took one backward step, and looked up into the frank, bronzed face above her. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you are Mr. Debenham?’ she asked.