“No, sir,” Dick spoke deliberately, and though he still smiled his eyes held the squire’s with unmistakable determination.  “I’m sure you can do it.  I’m equally sure you won’t.  And I’m surest of all that I shouldn’t care a damn if you did.”

“You wouldn’t care!” The squire looked furious for a moment, then he sneered.  “Oh, wouldn’t you, my friend?  We shall see.  You’d better go now—­before I have you kicked out.”

Dick’s shoulders jerked with a swift tightening of the muscles.  His eyes gleamed with a fierce light though his smile remained.  “I’ll lay you even odds,” he said, “that if you want that done, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

“I’m equal to it!” flashed the squire.  “You’d better not try me too far!”

“I won’t try you at all, sir,” Dick suddenly relaxed again.  He went to him with a pacific hand held out.  “Good-bye!  I’m going—­now.”

Fielding looked at him, looked at the extended hand, paused for a long moment, finally took it.

“Don’t want to quarrel with me, eh?” he said.

“Not without cause,” said Dick.

Fielding gripped the firm, lithe hand, looking at him hard and straight.  “You’re very cussed,” he said slowly.  “I wish I’d had the upbringing of you.”

Dick laughed.  “Well, you’ve meddled in my affairs as long as I can remember, sir.  I don’t know anyone who has had as much to do with me as you have.”

“And precious little satisfaction I’ve got out of it,” grumbled the squire.  “You’ve always been a kicker.”  He broke off as a knock came at the door, and turned away with an impatient fling.  “Who is it?  Come in!”

The door opened.  Juliet stood on the threshold.  The evening light fell full upon her.  She was dressed in cloudy grey that fell about her in soft folds.  Her face was flushed, but quite serene.

“Mrs. Fielding wants to know if you have forgotten dinner,” she said.

The squire’s face changed magically.  He smiled upon Juliet.  “Come in, Miss Moore!  You’ve met this pestilent pedagogue before, I think.”

“Just once or twice,” said Juliet, coming forward.

“How is the ankle?” said Green.

She smiled at him without embarrassment.  “Oh, better, thank you.  It was only a wrench.”

“Hurt yourself?” questioned Fielding.

“No, no.  It’s really nothing.  I slipped in the park and nearly sprained my ankle—­just not quite,” said Juliet.  “And Mr. Green very kindly helped me into shelter before the storm broke.”

“Did he?” said the squire and looked at Green searchingly.  “Well, Mr. Green, you’d better stay and dine as you are here.”

“You’re very kind,” Dick said.  “I don’t know whether I ought.  I’m not dressed.”

“Of course you ought!” said Fielding testily.  “Come on and wash!  Your clothes won’t matter—­we’re alone.  That is, if Miss Moore doesn’t object to sitting down with blue serge.”