She felt her pulse thumping a little as she opened the library
door. There was undoubtedly something about the Squire--some
queer magnetism--born perhaps of his very restlessness and
unexpectedness--that made life in his neighbourhood seldom less
than interesting. His temper this morning would probably be of the
worst. Something, or some one, had defeated all his schemes for a
magnificent assertion of the rights of man. His park was in the
hands of the invaders. The public plough was impudently at work.
And at the same moment his secretary had given warning, and the
new catalogue--the darling of his heart--would be thrown on his
hands. It would not be surprising to find him rampant. Elizabeth
entered almost on tip-toe, prepared to be all that was meek and
conciliating, so far as was compatible with her month's notice.
* * * * *
A tall figure rose from the Squire's table and made her a formal
bow.
'Good-morning, Miss Bremerton. I expected your assistance yesterday
afternoon, but you had, I understand, made an engagement?'
'I asked you--a few days ago,' said Elizabeth, mildly confronting
him.
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