never regret it as long as you live. It'll be the best day's work you've ever done. I'll look after your son's interests—everybody's interests—as if they were my own. As indeed," he added, with a sly glance, "they will be."
Mrs. Mallathorpe realized the finality, the resolve, in all this—but she made one more attempt.
"Ten thousand!" she said. "Come, now!—think what ten thousand pounds in cash would mean to you!"
"No—nor twenty thousand," replied Pratt. "I've made up my mind. I'll have my own terms. It's no use—not one bit of use—haggling or discussing matters further. I'm in possession of the will—and therefore of the situation, Mrs. Mallathorpe, you've just got to do what I tell you!"
He got up from his chair, and going over to a side-table took from it a blotting-pad, some writing paper and a pencil. For the moment his back was turned—and again he did not see the look of almost murderous hatred which came into his visitor's eyes; had he seen and understood it, he might even then have reconsidered matters and taken Mrs. Mallathorpe's last offer. But the look had gone when he turned again, and he noticed nothing as he handed over the writing materials.
"What are these for?" she asked.
"You'll see in a moment," replied Pratt, reseating himself, and drawing his chair a little nearer her own. "Now listen—because it's no good arguing any more. You're going to give me that stewardship and agency. You'll simply tell your son that it's absolutely necessary to have a steward. He'll agree. If he doesn't, no mat-
