“Then, if you think I’m like him,” said Durward gently, “will you let me try to take his place a little?  I mean,” he explained hastily, fearing she might misunderstand him, “that you will miss his guardianship and care of you, as well as the good pal you found in him.  Will you let me try to fill in the gaps, if—­if you should want advice, or service—­anything over which a male man can be a bit useful?  Oh——­” breaking off with a short, embarrassed laugh—­“it is so difficult to explain what I do mean!”

“I think I know,” said Sara, smiling faintly.  “You mean that now that Uncle Pat has gone, you don’t want me to feel quite adrift in the world.”

The big man, hampered by his masculine shyness of a difficult situation, smiled back at her, relieved.

“Yes, that’s it, that’s it!” he agreed eagerly.  “I want you to regard me as a—­a sort of sheet-anchor upon which you can pull in a storm.”

“Thank you,” said Sara.  “I will.  But I hope there won’t be storms of such magnitude that I shall need to pull very hard.”

Durward smoked furiously for a moment.  Then he burst forth—­

“You can’t imagine what a brute I feel for turning you out of the Court.  I wish it need not be.  But the Lovells have always lived at the old place, and my wife—­”

“Naturally.”  She interrupted him gently.  “Naturally, she wishes to live here.  I owe you no grudge for that,” smiling.  “When—­how soon do you think of coming?  I will make my arrangements accordingly.”

“We should like to come as soon as possible, really,” he admitted reluctantly.  “I have the chance of leasing Durward Park, if the tenant can have what practically amounts to immediate possession.  And of course, in the circumstances, I should be glad to get the Durward property off my hands.”

“Of course you would.”  Sara nodded understandingly.  “If you could let me have a few days in which to find some rooms—­”

“No, no,” he broke in eagerly.  “I want you still to regard Barrow as your headquarters—­to stay on here with us until you have fixed some permanent arrangement that suits you.”

She was touched by the kindly suggestion; nevertheless, she shook her head with decision.

“It is more than kind of you to think of such a thing,” she said gratefully.  “But it is quite out of the question.  Why, I am not even a cousin several times removed!  I have no claim at all.  Mrs. Durward—­”

“Will be delighted.  She asked me to be sure and tell you so.  Please, Miss Tennant, don’t refuse me.  Don’t”—­persuasively—­“oblige us to feel more brutal interlopers than we need.”

Still she hesitated.

“If I were sure—­” she began doubtfully.

“You may be—­absolutely sure.  There!”—­with a sigh of relief—­“that’s settled.  But, as I can see you’re the kind of person whose conscientious scruples will begin to worry you the moment I’m gone”—­he smiled—­“my wife will write to you.  Promise not to run away in the meantime?”