“Mount Dunstan is in a deucedly unpleasant position,” he condescended at last.  “I should not care to stand in his shoes.”

He had not returned to the Court until late in the afternoon, but having heard in the village the rumour of the outbreak of fever, he had made inquiries and gathered detail.

“You are thinking of the outbreak of typhoid among the hop pickers?” said Lady Anstruthers.  “Mrs. Brent thinks it threatens to be very serious.”

“An epidemic, without a doubt,” he answered.  “In a wretched unsanitary place like Dunstan village, the wretches will die like flies.”

“What will be done?” inquired Betty.

He gave her one of the unpleasant personal glances and laughed derisively.

“Done?  The county authorities, who call themselves ‘guardians,’ will be frightened to death and will potter about and fuss like old women, and profess to examine and protect and lay restrictions, but everyone will manage to keep at a discreet distance, and the thing will run riot and do its worst.  As far as one can see, there seems no reason why the whole place should not be swept away.  No doubt Mount Dunstan has wisely taken to his heels already.”

“I think that, on the contrary, there would be much doubt of that,” Betty said.  “He would stay and do what he could.”

Sir Nigel shrugged his shoulders.

“Would he?  I think you’ll find he would not.”

“Mrs. Brent tells me,” Rosalie broke in somewhat hurriedly, “that the huts for the hoppers are in the worst possible condition.  They are so dilapidated that the rain pours into them.  There is no proper shelter for the people who are ill, and Lord Mount Dunstan cannot afford to take care of them.”

“But he will—­he will,” broke forth Betty.  Her head lifted itself and she spoke almost as if through her small, shut teeth.  A wave of intense belief—­high, proud, and obstinate, swept through her.  It was a feeling so strong and vibrant that she felt as if Mount Dunstan himself must be reached and upborne by it—­as if he himself must hear her.

Rosalie looked at her half-startled, and, for the moment held fascinated by the sudden force rising in her and by the splendid spark of light under her lids.  She was reminded of the fierce little Betty of long ago, with her delicate, indomitable small face and the spirit which even at nine years old had somehow seemed so strong and straitly keen of sight that one had known it might always be trusted.  Actually, in one way, she had not changed.  She saw the truth of things.  The next instant, however, inadvertently glancing towards her husband, she caught her breath quickly.  Across his heavy-featured face had shot the sudden gleam of a new expression.  It was as if he had at the moment recognised something which filled him with a rush of fury he himself was not prepared for.  That he did not wish it to be seen she knew by his manner.  There was a brief silence in which it passed away.  He spoke after it, with disagreeable precision.