“Don’t!” said Tatham; “it’s a beastly world.”

They moved on in silence, till Undershaw resumed: 

“Dixon came to the surgery this afternoon, and I understood from him that he thinks Melrose is breaking up fast.  He tries to live as usual; and his temper is appalling.  But Dixon sees a great change.”

“Well, it’ll scarcely be possible to say that his decease ’cast a gloom over the countryside.’  Will it?” laughed Tatham.

“What’ll Faversham do?  That’s what I keep asking myself.”

“Do?  Why, go off with the shekels, and be damned to us!  I understand that just at present he’s paying rather high for them, which is some satisfaction.  That creature Nash told one of our men the other day that Melrose now treats him like dirt, and finds his chief amusement in stopping anything he wants to do.”

“Then he’d better look sharp after the will,” said Undershaw, with a smile.  “Melrose is game for any number of tricks yet.  But I don’t judge Faversham quite as you do.  I believe he has all sorts of grand ideas in his head about what he’ll do when he comes in.”

“I daresay!  You need ’em when you begin with taking soiled money.  Mrs. Melrose got the quarterly payment of her allowance yesterday, from an Italian bank—­twenty-five pounds minus ten pounds, which seems to be mortgaged in some way.  Melrose’s solicitors gracefully let her know that the allowance was raised by twenty pounds!  On fifteen pounds therefore she and the girl are expected to exist for the quarter—­and support the old father.  And yesterday just after my mother had shown me the check, I saw Faversham in Pengarth, driving a Rolls-Royce car, brand-new, with a dark fellow beside him whom I know quite well as a Bond Street dealer.  I conclude Faversham was taking him to see the collections—­his collections!”

“It looks ugly I grant.  But I believe he’ll provide for the girl as soon as he can.”

“And I hope she’ll refuse it!” cried Tatham.  “And I believe she will.  She’s a girl of spirit.  She talks of going on the stage.  My mother has found out that she’s got a voice, and she dances divinely.  My mother’s actually got a teacher for her from London, whom we put up in the village.”

“A lovely little girl!” said Undershaw.  “And she’s getting over her hardships.  But the mother—­” He shook his head.

“You think she’s in a bad way?”

“Send her back to Italy as soon as you can.  She’s pining for her own people.  Life’s been a bit too hard for her, and she never was but a poor thing.  Well, I must go.”

Tatham stayed his horse.  Undershaw, added as though by an afterthought: 

“I was at Green Cottage this morning.  Mrs. Penfold’s rather knocked up with nursing her sister.  She chattered to me about Faversham.  He used to be a good deal there but they’ve broken with him too; apparently, because of Mainstairs.  Miss Lydia couldn’t stand it.  She was so devoted to the people.”