Elizabeths Campaign | Page 4

'rebuilt at the worst time, by a man with no more taste than a
broomstick. Still, he was the sixteenth owner, from father to son. That's
something.'
And he fell to thinking, with that half-ironic depreciation which he
allowed to himself, and would have stood from no one else, of his own
brand-new Georgian house, built from the plans of a famous American
architect, ten years before the war, out of the profits of an abnormally
successful year, and furnished in what he believed to be faultless taste
by the best professional decorator he could find.
'Yet compared to a Mannering, what do I mean to the people here? You

scarcely begin to take root in this blessed country under half a century.
Mannering is exceedingly unpopular; the people think him a selfish
idler; but if he chose he could whistle them back with a hundredth part
of the trouble it would take me! And if Aubrey wanted to go into
Parliament, he'd probably have his pick of the county divisions.
Curious fellow, Aubrey! I wonder exactly what Beryl sees in him?'
His daughter's prospects were not indeed very clear to a mind that liked
everything cut and dried. Aubrey Mannering was the Squire's eldest
son; but the Squire was not rich, and had been for years past wasting
his money on Greek antiquities, which seemed to his neighbours,
including Sir Henry Chicksands, a very dubious investment. If Aubrey
should want to sell, who was going to buy such things at high prices
after the war? No doubt prices at Christie's--for good stuff--had been
keeping up very well. That was because of war profits. People were
throwing money about now. But when the war industries came to an
end? and the national bills had to be paid?
'The only thing that can't go down is land,' thought Sir Henry, with the
cheerful consciousness of a man who had steadily year by year
increased what had originally been a very modest property to
something like a large estate.
Mannering had plenty of that commodity. But how far had he dipped
the estate? It must be heavily mortgaged. By decent management
anybody, no doubt, might still bring it round. 'But Aubrey's not the man.
And since he joined up at the beginning of the war the Squire won't let
him have a voice in anything. And now Desmond--by George, the
twins are nineteen this month!--Desmond'll be off directly. And then
his father will be madder than ever.'
By this time the ugly house was near at hand, and the thick woods
which surrounded it had closed about the horse and rider.
'Splendid timber,' thought Sir Henry, as he rode through it, measuring it
with a commercial eye, 'but all past its prime, and abominably
neglected.... Hullo! that looks like Pamela, and the new woman--the
secretary!'

For two ladies were coming down the drive towards him, with a big
white and tan collie jumping round them. One of them, very tall and
erect, was dressed in a dark coat and skirt, reasonably short, a small
black toque, and brown boots and leggings. The close-fitting coat
showed a shapely but quite substantial figure. She carried a stick, and
walked with a peculiarly rapid and certain step. The young girl beside
her seemed by comparison a child. She wore a white dress, in keeping
with the warm September day, and with it a dark blue sports coat, and a
shady hat. Her dress only just passed her knees, and beneath it the
slender legs and high heels drew Sir Henry's disapproving eye. He
hated extravagance in anything. Beryl managed to look fashionable,
without looking _outré_, as Pamela did. But he reined up to greet her
with ready smiles.
'Well, Pamela, jolly to see you at home again! My word, you've grown!
Shall I find your father in?'
'Yes, we left him in the library. May I introduce Miss Bremerton--Sir
Henry Chicksands.' The girl spoke with hurried shyness, the quick
colour in her cheeks. The lady beside her bowed, and Sir Henry took
off his hat. Each surveyed the other. 'A strong-minded female!' thought
Sir Henry, who was by no means advanced in his views of the other
sex.
'The strong-minded female,' however, was not, it seemed, of the
talkative kind. She remained quite silent while Pamela and Sir Henry
exchanged some family gossip, with her ungloved hand caressing the
nose of the collie, who was pressing against her with intrusive
friendliness. But her easy self-possession as contrasted with Pamela's
nervousness was all the time making an impression on Sir Henry, as
was also the fact of her general good looks. Not a beauty--not at all; but,
as the Rector had said, 'striking.'
As for Pamela, what was the matter with the child? Until Beryl's name
was mentioned,