Well, he had bid high enough this time, not for the gems themselves, but for the chance of some day persuading their owner to entertain the notion of selling them.  It pleased him to guess at what had been probably Faversham’s secret expectation that morning of a proposal for them; and to think that he had baffled it.

He might, of course, have made some quite preposterous offer which would have forced the young man’s hand.  But that might have meant, probably would have meant, the prompt departure of the enriched Faversham.  But he wanted both Faversham and the gems; as much as possible—­that is, for his money.  The thought of returning to his former solitariness was rapidly becoming intolerable to him.  Meanwhile the adorable things were still under his roof; and with a mad pleasure he relocked the drawer.

* * * * *

Faversham spent the rest of the morning in cogitations that may be easily imagined.  He certainly attributed some share in the extraordinary proposal that had been made to him, to his possession of the gems, and to Melrose’s desire to beguile them from him.  But what then?  Sufficient for the day!  He would decide how to deal with that crisis when it should arrive.

Meanwhile, the amazing proposal itself was before him.  If it were accepted, he should be at once a comparatively rich man, with an infinity of chances for the future; for Melrose’s financial interest and influence were immense.  If not free to marry immediately, he would certainly be free—­as Melrose himself had hinted—­to prepare for marriage.  But could he do the work?—­could he get on with the old man?—­could he endure the life?

After luncheon Dixon, with the subdued agitation of manner which showed the advent of yet another change in the household, came in to announce that a motor had come from Carlisle, that Mr. Melrose did not propose to use it himself, and hoped that Mr. Faversham would take a drive.

It was the invalid’s first excursion into the outer world.

He sat breathing in great draughts of the scented summer air, feeling his life and strength come back into him.

The rain had passed, and the fells rose clear and high above the moist hay meadows and the fresh-leaved trees.

As they emerged upon the Keswick road he tapped the chauffeur on the shoulder.  “Do you know Green Cottage?”

“Mrs. Penfold’s, sir?  Certainly.”

“How far is it?”

“I should say about two miles.”

“Go there, please.”

The two miles passed for Faversham in a double excitement he had some difficulty in concealing; the physical excitement of change and movement, of this reentry upon a new world, which was the old; and the mental excitement of his own position.

At the cottage door, he dismounted slowly.  The maid-servant said she thought Mrs. Penfold was in the garden.  Would the gentleman please come in?