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frills and delicate fabrics.
    Miss Ravensdale, taking the bull by the horns, said quietly:
    “I have sent a message down to Mr. Saxilby asking him to come up to the office at half-past eight. You will have a lot to discuss.”
    “Yes,” Judith said shortly. It was infuriating that, because she had stayed awake so late the previous night, she had slept in this morning. Otherwise she would have breakfasted and been out of the house long before Miss Ravensdale put in an appearance. As it was, Judith felt that she had laid herself wide open to more interference, and the knowledge that she had no one but herself to blame did not make her feel any better tempered.
    Hardly eating any breakfast, she went straight to the room which had always been used as the estate office and found Charles already there. As she came in he laid down the book that he had been reading and stood up.
    “Good morning, Miss Ravensdale,” he said quietly.
    Judith’s lips parted to reply, but her eyes fell on the book he had been studying. It was hand-written— her own writing.
    “You had no right to read that!” she said indignantly. “It is my diary ”
    “Yes, I realised that,” he admitted. “But not a personal one, is it? Otherwise I should not have read it, of course. Actually, I cannot think of anything that could so quickly put me au fait with the running of the farm as a day-to-day diary of events like this.”
    His tone expressed genuine approval, but Judith was convinced that he had read her reason for annoyance. It was perfectly true that it gave him invaluable information about the running of the farm—and that was the very reason why she had not intended that he should see it.
    He left the book open on the table, his hand resting lightly on it, and the slightly possessive attitude irritated Judith beyond measure.
    “Have you any particular plans of how you would like me to take over?” he asked pleasantly.
    Judith’s eyes dropped. He was so infuriatingly sure of himself, so certain that he would make no mistakes.
    “No,” she said slowly, “I have no plans. You see—I think it is better to be frank, Mr. Saxilby.”
    “Much better,” he agreed gravely.
    “Yes. Well, the situation is this. I shall not be of age for six months. Consequently it appears that I am not in a position to give orders on my own property.”
    He was startled at the bitterness in her voice. And realised, perhaps for the first time, just how intense was the opposition which he had to overcome. He waited in silence for her to go on.
    “But in six months the situation is going to be quite different. It is only fair to warn you, Mr. Saxilby, that one of the first things I do will be -to get rid of you!”
    Charles, of course, had got up when Judith came in. Now he came a little closer to her, and she had a sudden sense of being overwhelmed. He towered so over her—it was one of her griefs that she was so small and unimposing—and though he was not heavily built, his lithe, easy movements suggested considerable strength. Involuntarily she took a step backwards. Charles seemed to be unaware of it. He said slowly:
    “You will dismiss me—even though I make quite' a success of the job?”
    Once again Judith’s eyes dropped. It was infuriating that this man should have the ability of making her feel at a disadvantage, but—he should learn!
    “I do not think it is likely that you will,” she said bluntly. “After all, I have already had some experience of how you deal with other people, and frankly, I think your manner is tactless and in doubtful taste. I cannot have you making trouble here.”
    The impertinence of it! If she had been a boy, at that moment she would have found herself laid across his knees, face down, while his good right hand taught her a much needed lesson. As it was, he found himself saying quietly:
    “I agree that our encounter yesterday was unfortunate. None the less, I acted in good faith. I should like you to believe