“The rest of what has to be said is not a formal matter.  If Miss Melrose, or her guardians, choose to make me the first Curator of the Threlfall Tower Museum, I am willing to accept that office at their hands, and—­after, perhaps, a year—­I should like to occupy the rooms I have mentioned in the west wing—­with the lady who has now promised to be my wife.  I know perhaps better than any one else what the house contains; and I could spend, if not my life, at any rate a term of years, in making the Tower a palace of art, a centre of design, of training, of suggestion—­a House Beautiful, indeed, for the whole north of England.  And my promised wife says she will help me.”

He looked at Lydia.  She put her hand in his.  The sight of most people in the room had grown dim.

But Felicia had jumped up.

“I don’t want it all!  I won’t have it all!” she said in a passionate excitement.  “My father hated me.  I told him I would never take his money.  Why didn’t you tell me—­why didn’t you warn me?” She turned to Tatham, her little body shaking, and her face threatening tears.

“Why should Mr. Faversham do such a thing?  Don’t let him!—­don’t let him!  And I ought—­I ought—­to have been told!”

Faversham and Lydia approached her.  But suddenly; putting her hands to her face, she ran to the French window of the library, opened it, and rushed into the garden.

Tatham and his mother looked at each other aghast.

“Run after her!” said Victoria in his ear.  “Take this shawl!” She handed him a wrap she had brought in upon her arm.

“Yes—­it’s December,” said Boden, smiling, to Lady Tatham; “but perhaps”—­the accent was ironical—­“when she comes back the seasons will have changed!”

The session broke up in excited conversation, of which Faversham was the centre.

“This is final?” said Undershaw, eying him keenly.  “You intend to stand by it?”

“‘Fierce work it were to do again!’” said Faversham, in a quotation recognized by Undershaw, who generally went to bed with a scientific book on one side of him, and a volume of modern poets on the other.  Faversham was now radiant.  He stood with his arm round Lydia.  Victoria had her hand.

* * * * *

Meanwhile in the Italian garden and through the yew hedges, Daphne fled, and Apollo pursued.  At last he caught her, and she sank upon a garden seat.  He put the shawl round her, and stood with his hands in his pockets surveying her.

“What was the matter, Felicia?” he asked her, gently.

“It is ridiculous!” she said, sobbing.  “Why wasn’t I asked?  I don’t want a guardian!  I won’t have you for a guardian!” And she beat her foot angrily on the paved path.

Tatham laughed.

“You’ll have to go back and behave nicely, Felicia.  Haven’t you any thanks for Faversham?”

“I never asked him to do it!  How can I look after all that!  It’ll kill me.  I want to sing!  I want to go on the stage!”