His daughter’s prospects were not indeed very clear to a mind that liked everything cut and dried.  Aubrey Mannering was the Squire’s eldest son; but the Squire was not rich, and had been for years past wasting his money on Greek antiquities, which seemed to his neighbours, including Sir Henry Chicksands, a very dubious investment.  If Aubrey should want to sell, who was going to buy such things at high prices after the war?  No doubt prices at Christie’s—­for good stuff—­had been keeping up very well.  That was because of war profits.  People were throwing money about now.  But when the war industries came to an end? and the national bills had to be paid?

‘The only thing that can’t go down is land,’ thought Sir Henry, with the cheerful consciousness of a man who had steadily year by year increased what had originally been a very modest property to something like a large estate.

Mannering had plenty of that commodity.  But how far had he dipped the estate?  It must be heavily mortgaged.  By decent management anybody, no doubt, might still bring it round.  ’But Aubrey’s not the man.  And since he joined up at the beginning of the war the Squire won’t let him have a voice in anything.  And now Desmond—­by George, the twins are nineteen this month!—­Desmond’ll be off directly.  And then his father will be madder than ever.’

By this time the ugly house was near at hand, and the thick woods which surrounded it had closed about the horse and rider.

‘Splendid timber,’ thought Sir Henry, as he rode through it, measuring it with a commercial eye, ’but all past its prime, and abominably neglected....  Hullo! that looks like Pamela, and the new woman—­the secretary!’

For two ladies were coming down the drive towards him, with a big white and tan collie jumping round them.  One of them, very tall and erect, was dressed in a dark coat and skirt, reasonably short, a small black toque, and brown boots and leggings.  The close-fitting coat showed a shapely but quite substantial figure.  She carried a stick, and walked with a peculiarly rapid and certain step.  The young girl beside her seemed by comparison a child.  She wore a white dress, in keeping with the warm September day, and with it a dark blue sports coat, and a shady hat.  Her dress only just passed her knees, and beneath it the slender legs and high heels drew Sir Henry’s disapproving eye.  He hated extravagance in anything.  Beryl managed to look fashionable, without looking outre, as Pamela did.  But he reined up to greet her with ready smiles.

’Well, Pamela, jolly to see you at home again!  My word, you’ve grown!  Shall I find your father in?’

’Yes, we left him in the library.  May I introduce Miss Bremerton—­Sir Henry Chicksands.’  The girl spoke with hurried shyness, the quick colour in her cheeks.  The lady beside her bowed, and Sir Henry took off his hat.  Each surveyed the other.  ’A strong-minded female!’ thought Sir Henry, who was by no means advanced in his views of the other sex.