Tropenell shook himself free of the other's touch. "If you know that," he was breathing hard now, not trying to disguise his anger, "then why did you allude just now to the fact that I am a good deal in your house? Does that mean you wish that I should give up coming to The Chase?" "No, of course I don't mean that! You're the one real friend I've made--well, since I got to man's estate," said Pavely ruefully. Everything was going wrong. The conversation was taking a turn he had never thought of or conceived as possible. "What I mean is that Laura----" Tropenell stopped him with a passionate gesture: "Cannot we keep Laura's name out of our discussion?" Godfrey stared at him, genuinely astonished. "How can we keep Laura's name out of our discussion? The whole thing centres about Laura! This letter mentions Laura--ay, and I've had another letter, which I hadn't meant to show you, but which on second thoughts I should like you to see." He began fumbling in another pocket. "I don't want to see it!" cried Oliver. "I'd rather not see it!" "But I'd rather you saw it," said Godfrey obstinately. Tropenell read the second anonymous letter through, and then handed it back, without comment. Silently they both turned about, and walked quickly, in almost complete silence, back to Freshley. "We've come home to tea, after all, mother," said Oliver shortly, "we are neither of us in condition for a fifteen-mile walk." Neither man referred again to the matter which when they were together filled both their minds, and on the day of Laura's return to The Chase, Oliver Tropenell went up to town, without having seen her. Four days later his mother received a rather cryptic telegram: "Arriving tonight with a friend." A friend? Some sure, sombre instinct told Mrs. Tropenell that this would be Gillie Baynton. CHAPTER IX "Godfrey can't eat me! Besides, he'll have to see me some time. Not that I want to see anything of the fellow--I always hated him! Still, as things are, it's far better I should take him by surprise, in Laura's house, than go cap in hand, and ask his leave to see my sister." It was Gilbert Baynton who was speaking, standing with his legs a little apart, his fair head thrown back, his hands in his pockets, early in the afternoon of the day he and Oliver had arrived from London. Mother and son were both in the room, but it was really with Mrs. Tropenell that Baynton was having this rather unpleasant argument. He and Tropenell had had this all out before. Oliver had wanted Gillie to write to his sister, but he was set on taking her by surprise, and on stealing a march on Godfrey Pavely. Mrs. Tropenell looked up at the man standing before her. Gillie was two years older than her Oliver, and she had been the first woman who had ever seen him, for it was 

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