But all this she did and achieved through her mere fitness and delightfulness as a companion.  He had never imagined that life would bring him anybody—­least of all a woman—­who would both give him so much, and save him so much.  Selfish, exacting, irritable—­he knew very well that he was all three.  But it had not prevented this capable, kind, clever creature from devoting herself to him, from doing her utmost, not only to save his estate and his income, but to make his life once more agreeable to him, in spite of the war and all the rancour and resentments it had stirred up in him.

How patient she had been with these last!  He was actually beginning to be ashamed of some of them.  And now to-night—­what made her come and give him the extra pleasure of her company these two hours?  Sympathy, he supposed, about Desmond.

Well, he was grateful; and for the first time his heart reached out for pity—­almost humbled itself—­accepted the human lot.  If Desmond were killed, he would never choose to go on living.  Did she know that?  Was it because she guessed at the feelings he had always done his best to hide that she had been so good to him that evening?

What as to that love-story of hers—­her family?—­her brother in Mesopotamia?  He began to feel a hundred curiosities about her, and a strong wish to make life easy for her, as she had been making it easy for him.  But she was excessively proud and scrupulous—­that he had long since found out.  No use offering to double her salary, now that she had saved him all this money!  His first advance in that direction had merely offended her.  The Squire thought vaguely of the brother—­no doubt a young lieutenant.  Could interest be made for him?—­with some of the bigwigs.  Then his—­very intermittent—­sense of humour asserted itself.  He to make interest with anybody—­for anybody—­in connection with the war!  He, who had broken with every soldier-friend he ever had, because of his opinions about the war!—­and was anathema throughout the country for the same reason.  Like all members of old families in this country he had a number of aristocratic and wealthy kinsfolk, the result of Mannering marriages in the past.  But he had never cared for any of them, except to a mild degree for his sister, Lady Cassiobury, who was ten years older than himself, and still paid long visits to Mannering, which bored him hugely.  On the last occasion, he was quite aware that he had behaved badly, and was now in her black-books.

No—­there was nothing to be done, except to let this wonderful woman have her own way!  If she wanted to cut down the woods, let her!—­if she wanted to amuse herself by rebuilding the village, and could find the money out of the estate, let her!—­it would occupy her, attach her to the place, and do him no harm.