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'With two or three old men, and two girls from the village,' said
Beryl. 'Father doesn't mind what he gives up so long as it isn't the
garden.'
'It's his pet vice!' laughed Aubrey--'his public-house, like my
father's Greek pots. I say--you've heard of the secretary?'
It seemed to Beryl that he was fencing with her--delaying their real
talk. But she accepted his lead.
'Yes, Desmond seems to like her. I don't gather that Pamela cares
very much about her.'
'Oh, Pamela takes time. But what do you think the secretary did last
night?'
'What?' They had paused under a group of limes clad in a glory of
yellow leaf, and she was looking up in surprise at the unusual
animation playing over the features of the man beside her.
'She refused to sign a codicil to my father's will, disinheriting
me, and came to tell me so this morning! You should have heard her!
Very formal and ceremonious--very much on her dignity! But such a
brick!'
Mannering's deep-set eyes under his lined thinker's brow shone with
amusement.


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