'You'll put on the screws politely? Thank you? But still it will be
_you_ who'll be putting the screw on, who'll be turning out my
farmers, and ploughing up my land, and cutting down my trees.
Doesn't it strike you that--well, that--under the circumstances--it
will be rather difficult for Aubrey and Beryl to keep up their
engagement?'

The Squire was sitting on the edge of the table, his thin legs
crossed, his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. Sir Henry coloured
hotly.

'You gave your consent to their engagement, Mannering.'

'Yes, but I propose to withdraw it,' said the Squire coolly.

Sir Henry's indignation kept him cool also.

'You can't play ducks and drakes with young people's lives like
that. Even you can't do that.'

'I can. I can withdraw my consent.'

'Because you mean to fight the County War Committee, of which I am
Chairman?'

'Precisely. The situation is too difficult,' said the Squire with
sparkling eyes. 'The young people will no doubt see it for
themselves.'