Elizabeths Campaign | Page 9

speaker, who had been violently flushed a minute earlier, and was now as pale as himself, and then at the sketch of Desmond, just behind the Squire. His eyes dropped; the hurry in his blood subsided.
'Well, good-bye, Mannering. I'll--I'll do what I can to make things easy for you.'
The Squire laughed angrily.
'You'll put on the screws politely? Thank you? But still it will be you who'll be putting the screw on, who'll be turning out my farmers, and ploughing up my land, and cutting down my trees. Doesn't it strike you that--well, that--under the circumstances--it will be rather difficult for Aubrey and Beryl to keep up their engagement?'
The Squire was sitting on the edge of the table, his thin legs crossed, his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. Sir Henry coloured hotly.
'You gave your consent to their engagement, Mannering.'
'Yes, but I propose to withdraw it,' said the Squire coolly.
Sir Henry's indignation kept him cool also.
'You can't play ducks and drakes with young people's lives like that. Even you can't do that.'
'I can. I can withdraw my consent.'
'Because you mean to fight the County War Committee, of which I am Chairman?'
'Precisely. The situation is too difficult,' said the Squire with sparkling eyes. 'The young people will no doubt see it for themselves.'
'Pshaw! Nonsense!' cried Sir Henry, finally losing his temper. 'Aubrey is long since of age and his own master.'
'Perhaps, but he is an extravagant fellow, who likes money and spends it. And if he is his own master, I am the master of the estate; there is no entail.'
Chicksands laughed aloud.
'So because I come on a mission to try and save you friction and trouble, you are going to avenge yourself on your son and my daughter?'
'I merely point out the properties,' said the Squire provokingly, his legs dangling.
There was a pause. Sir Henry broke it with dignity, as he turned away.
'I think we had better break off this discussion. I cannot--I do not--believe you will carry out what you say. But if you do, I shall stand by the young people.'
'No doubt!' said the Squire, who seemed to bristle from head to foot. 'Well, good-bye, Sir Henry. Sorry your visit has not been more agreeable. Forest will look after you.' And ringing the bell vehemently as he passed the fireplace, the Squire walked rapidly to the door and threw it open.
Chicksands passed through it, speechless with indignation and, if the truth were told, bewilderment.
* * * * *
The Squire shut the door upon his adversary, and then, with his hands on his sides, exploded in a fit of laughter.
'I always knew I must be rude to the old boy some time,' he said, with the glee of a mischievous child. 'But, ye gods, how his feathers drooped! He looked like a plucked cockatoo as he went out.'
He stood thinking a moment, and then with a look of sudden determination he went to his writing-table and sat down to it. Drawing a writing-pad towards him, he wrote as follows:
'MY DEAR AUBREY--Your future father-in-law has just been insulting and harrying me in ways which no civilized State had ever heard of before the war. He is the Chairman of a ridiculous body that calls itself the County War Agricultural Committee, that lays absurd eggs in the shape of sub-Committees to vex landlords. They have been going about among my farmers and want me to turn out three of them. I decline, so I suppose they'll do it for me. And they're going to plough up a lot of the park--without my leave. And Chicksands is the head and front of the whole business. He came here to-day to try and coax me into submission. But I would neither be coaxed nor bullied. I've broken with him; and if my children stand by me properly, they'll break with him too. I really don't see how you're going to marry Beryl after this. At least, I shall certainly not help you to do it, and if you defy me you must take the consequences. The whole world's gone mad. My only consolation is that I have just got some new Greek things, and that Levasseur's helping me unpack them. However, it's no good talking to you about them. You wasted all your time at Cambridge, and I doubt whether you could construe a bit of Euripides to save your life.
'Of course if you want to talk this over, you had better run down. I have got a new secretary--came here six weeks ago--a topping young woman--who reads Greek like a bird. But her quantities are not always what they should be. Good-bye.--Your affectionate father,
'EDMUND MANNERING.'
Having finished the epistle he read it over with a complacent countenance, put it up and stamped it. Then he looked at his watch.
'What a long time that young woman's