“Where I liked,” said the young man sulkily, “I’m not a child.”

“No, and this conduct has become unbearable. It is time you went away for good. What do you say to going to Australia with your passage paid and a hundred pounds to start you?”

“’Tisn’t good enough.”

“Then you had better execute your old threat and enlist in a cavalry regiment. I promise you that I will not buy you out.”

“Thank you, but it isn’t good enough.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“Never mind.”

Garstang looked up at him sharply, this time from outside the finger arch.

“Don’t provoke me, Harry Dasent, for your own sake. What are you going to do?”

“Get married.”

“Indeed? Well, that’s sensible. But are there not enough pauper children for the parish to keep?”

“Yes, but I am not going to marry a pauper. You have my money and will not disgorge it, so I must have somebody’s else.”

“Indeed! Then you are going to look out for a lady with money?”

“No. I have already found one.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Who is it, pray?”

“Katherine Wilton.”

Garstang’s eyes contracted, and he gazed at his stepson for some moments in silence. Then a contemptuous smile dawned upon his lip.

“I was not aware that you were so ambitious, Harry. But the lady?”

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