“I do know,” she said.  “Since I’ve been here, had time to think, I’ve realized it more and more.  This dreadful fight for front places, for prosperity—­this rooted, individual selfishness—­the hopeless materialism of it all—­the ultimate ruin—.”  She broke off.  “You’ll take me for a street ranter if I go on.  But it’s rather piteous to see people straining and agonizing after what, after all, can never bring them any comfort.”

“But that’s just what I was saying,” he protested.

Her frank eyes looked straight into his.  “But you’re doing it yourself all the same,” she said.  “You’re playing for your own hand all the time and so you’re a loser and always will be.  It’s the chief rule of the game.”  She smiled faintly.  “Please forgive me for telling you so, but I’ve only just found it out for myself; so I had to tell someone.”

“You’re rather a wonderful young woman,” said the squire, still staring.

She shook her head.  “Oh, no, I’m not.  I’ve just begun to use my brains, that’s all.  They’re nothing at all out of the ordinary, really.”

He laughed.  “Well, you’ve given me a pretty straight one anyway.  Have you got a home anywhere—­any home people?”

“None that count,” said Juliet.

“Been more or less of a looker-on all your life, eh?” he suggested.

“More or less,” smiled Juliet.

He held out his hand to her abruptly.  “Look here!  You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Juliet.

“Well, make up your mind quick!” He held her hand, looking at her.  “What’s the objection?  Tell me?”

She freed her hand gently but with decision.  “I can’t tell you entirely.  You must let me think.  For one thing, I want more freedom of action than I should have as an inmate of your house.  I want to come and go as I like.  I’ve never really done that before, and I’m just beginning to enjoy it.”

“That’s a selfish reason,” said the squire, with a sudden boyish grin at her.

She coloured slightly.  “No, it isn’t—­or not wholly.”

“All right, it isn’t.  I unsay it.  But that reason won’t exist as far as you are concerned.  You will come and go exactly as you like always.  No one will question you.”

“You’re very kind,” said Juliet.

He bowed to her ceremoniously.  “That’s the first really nice thing you have said to me.  I must make a note of it.  Now would you like my wife to call upon you?  If so, I’ll send her round to-morrow at twelve.”

“If she would care to come,” said Juliet.

“Of course she would.  She shall come then—­and you’ll talk things over, and come to an understanding.  That’s settled, is it?  Good-bye!”

He turned to go, pausing at the gate to throw her another smiling farewell.  She had not thought that gloomy, black browed countenance could look so genial.  There was something curiously elusive, almost haunting, about his smile.