He tried to give his attention to the notes he had been working at the day before.  Presently he wanted a reference—­a line from the Philoctetes.  ’The Lemnian fire’—­where on earth was the passage?  He lifted his head instinctively.  If only she had been there—­it was monstrous that she wasn’t there!—­he would just have thrown the question across the room, and got an answer.  Her verbal memory was astonishing—­much better than his.

He must, of course, get up and look out the reference for himself.  And the same with others.  In an hour’s time he had accomplished scarcely anything, and a settled gloom descended upon him.  That was the worst of accustoming yourself to crutches and helps.  When they were unscrupulously and unjustly taken away, a man was worse off than if he had never had them.

The evening post came in.  The Squire looked through it with disgust.  He perceived that several letters were answers to some he had allowed his secretary to draft and send in his name—­generally in reply to exasperated correspondents who had been kept waiting for months, and trampled on to boot.

Now he supposed she would refuse to have anything to do with this kind of thing!  She would keep to the letter of her bargain, for the few weeks that remained.  Greek he might expect from her—­but not business.

He opened one or two.  Yes, there was no doubt she was a clever woman—­unpardonably and detestably clever.  Affairs which had been mountains for years had suddenly become mole-hills.  In this new phase he felt himself more helpless than ever to deal with them.  She, on the contrary, might have put everything straight—­she might have done anything with him—­almost—­that she pleased.  He would have got rid of his old fool of an agent and put in another, that she approved of, if she had wished.

But no!—­she must try and dictate to him in public—­on a matter of public action.  She must have everything her own way.  Opinionated, self-conceited creature!

When tea-time came he rang for Forest, and demanded that a cup of tea should be brought him to the library.  But as the butler was leaving the room, he recalled him.

’And tell Miss Bremerton that I shall be glad of her company when she has finished her tea.’

Forest hesitated.

‘I think, sir, Miss Bremerton is out.’

Out!—­was she?  Her own mistress already!

‘Send Miss Pamela here at once,’ he commanded.

In a minute or two a girl’s quick step was heard, and Pamela ran in.

‘Yes, father?’

‘Where is Miss Bremerton?’ The Squire was standing in front of the fire, angrily erect.  He had delivered his question in the tone of an ultimatum.

’Why, father, you’ve forgotten!  She arranged with you that she was to go to tea at the Rectory, and I’ve just got a note from Mrs. Pennington to ask if they may keep her for the evening.  They’ll send her home.’