Mr. Delaney rose from his seat as he spoke.

“Would you not like to go to your room, and wash and change your dress?” he asked.

“I cannot change my dress, for I have only brought one.  I will go to my room presently.  What hour do you dine?”

“At half-past eight.”

“I have a few minutes still to talk to you, and I will not lose the opportunity.  It will be necessary for me to return home the day after to-morrow.”

An expression of relief swept over Mr. Delaney’s countenance.

“I shall, therefore,” continued Mrs. Dolman, taking no notice of this look, which she plainly saw, “have but little time at my disposal, and there is a great deal to be done.  But before I proceed to anything else, may I ask you a question?  How could you allow all that splendid land to lie waste?”

“What land, Jane?  What do you mean?”

“Those acres of grass outside the house.”

“Are you alluding to the lawns?”

“I don’t know what name you choose to call all that grass, but I think it is a positive tempting of Providence to allow so much land to lie fallow.  Why, you might grow potatoes or barley or oats, and make pounds and pounds a year.  I know of old what the land round Delaney Manor can produce.”

“As the land happens to belong to me, perhaps I may be allowed to arrange it as pleases myself,” said Mr. Delaney, in a haughty tone.

His sister favored him with a long, reflective gaze.

“He is just as obstinate as ever,” she muttered to herself.  “With that cleft in his chin, what else can be expected?  There is no use bothering him on that point at present, and, as he won’t allow me to talk of poor Evangeline,—­who had, poor soul, as many faults as I ever saw packed into a human being,—­there is nothing whatever for me to do but to look up those children.”

Mrs. Dolman rose from her seat as this thought came to her.

“I am tired,” she said.  “From Yorkshire to Delaney Manor is a long journey, as perhaps you do not remember, David; so I will seek my room after first having informed you what the object of my visit is.”

“I should be interested to know that, Jane,” he answered, in a somewhat softened tone.

“Well, seeing I am the only sister you have—­”

“But we never did pull well together,” interrupted he.

“We used to play in the same garden,” she answered, and for the first time a really soft and affectionate look came into her face.  “I hope to goodness, David, that the garden is not altered.”

“It is much the same as always, Jane.  The children occupy it a good deal.”

“I am coming to the subject of the children.  Of course, now that things are so much changed—­”

“I would rather not go into that,” said Mr. Delaney.