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: