“Confound his impudence!” growled Ransford.  “Oh, well!—­I’ll have to settle with him myself.  It’s useless trifling with anything like that.  I gave him a quiet hint before.  And since he won’t take it—­all right!”

“But—­what shall you do?” she asked anxiously.  “Not—­send him away?”

“If he’s any decency about him, he’ll go—­after what I say to him,” answered Ransford.  “Don’t you trouble yourself about it—­I’m not at all keen about him.  He’s a clever enough fellow, and a good assistant, but I don’t like him, personally—­never did.”

“I don’t want to think that anything that I say should lose him his situation—­or whatever you call it,” she remarked slowly.  “That would seem—­”

“No need to bother,” interrupted Ransford.  “He’ll get another in two minutes—­so to speak.  Anyway, we can’t have this going on.  The fellow must be an ass!  When I was young—­”

He stopped short at that, and turning away, looked out across the garden as if some recollection had suddenly struck him.

“When you were young—­which is, of course, such an awfully long time since!” said the girl, a little teasingly.  “What?”

“Only that if a woman said No—­unmistakably—­once, a man took it as final,” replied Ransford.  “At least—­so I was always given to believe.  Nowadays—­”

“You forget that Mr. Pemberton Bryce is what most people would call a very pushing young man,” said Mary.  “If he doesn’t get what he wants in this world, it won’t be for not asking for it.  But—­if you must speak to him—­and I really think you must!—­will you tell him that he is not going to get—­me?  Perhaps he’ll take it finally from you—­as my guardian.”

“I don’t know if parents and guardians count for much in these degenerate days,” said Ransford.  “But—­I won’t have him annoying you.  And—­I suppose it has come to annoyance?”

“It’s very annoying to be asked three times by a man whom you’ve told flatly, once for all, that you don’t want him, at any time, ever!” she answered.  “It’s—­irritating!”

“All right,” said Ransford quietly.  “I’ll speak to him.  There’s going to be no annoyance for you under this roof.”

The girl gave him a quick glance, and Ransford turned away from her and picked up his letters.

“Thank you,” she said.  “But—­there’s no need to tell me that, because I know it already.  Now I wonder if you’ll tell me something more?”

Ransford turned back with a sudden apprehension.

“Well?” he asked brusquely.  “What?”

“When are you going to tell me all about—­Dick and myself?” she asked.  “You promised that you would, you know, some day.  And—­a whole year’s gone by since then.  And—­Dick’s seventeen!  He won’t be satisfied always—­just to know no more than that our father and mother died when we were very little, and that you’ve been guardian—­and all that you have been!—­to us.  Will he, now?”