The contrast between this lady and Pamela Mannering was obvious at once.  If Pamela suggested romance, Elizabeth Bremerton suggested efficiency, cheerfulness, and the practical life.  Her grandmother had been Dutch, and in Elizabeth the fair skin and yellow-gold hair (Rembrandt’s ‘Saskia’ shows the type) of many Dutch forebears had reappeared.  She was a trifle plump; her hair curled prettily round her temples; her firm dimpled chin and the fair complexion of her face and neck were set off, evidently with intention, by the plain blouse of black silky stuff, open at the neck, and showing a modest string of small but real pearls.  The Squire, who had a wide knowledge of jewels, had noticed these pearls at once.  It seemed to him—­vaguely—­that lady secretaries should not possess real pearls; or if they did possess them, should carefully keep them to themselves.

He accepted a cup of tea from his daughter, and drank it absently before he asked: 

‘Where’s Desmond?’

’He went to lunch at Fallerton—­at the camp.  Captain Byles asked him.  I think afterwards he was going to play in a match.’

The same thought passed through the minds of both father and daughter.  ‘This day week, Desmond will be gone.’  In Pamela it brought back the dull pain of which she was now habitually conscious—­the pain of expected parting.  In her father it aroused an equally habitual antagonism—­the temper, indeed, of ironic exasperation in which all his thinking and doing were at the moment steeped.  He looked up suddenly.

‘Pamela, I have got something disagreeable to say to you.’

His daughter turned a startled face.

’I have had a quarrel with Sir Henry Chicksands, and I do not wish you, or Desmond, or any of my children, to have any communication henceforth with him, or with any of his family!’

‘Father, what do you mean?’

The girl’s incredulous dismay only increased the Squire’s irritation.

’I mean what I say.  Of course your married sisters and Aubrey will do what they please, though I have warned Aubrey how I shall view it if he takes sides against me.  But you and Desmond are under my control—­you, at any rate.  I forbid you to go to Chetworth, and your friendship with Beryl must be given up.’

‘Father!’ cried his daughter passionately, ’she is my best friend, and she is engaged to Aubrey.’

’If they are wise, they will break it off.  Family quarrels are awkward things.  And if Aubrey has any feeling for his father, he will be as angry as I am.’

‘What has Sir Henry been doing, father?’

’Taking my own property out of my hands, my dear, giving notice to my farmers, and proposing to plough up my park, without my consent.  That’s all—­just a trifle.  But it’s a trifle I shall fight!’

The Squire struck the arm of his chair with a long and bony hand.

‘Why, it’s only because they must!’ said the girl half scornfully, her breath fluttering.  ’Think what other people put up with, father.  And what they do!  And we do nothing!’