"Now then, David," she said, "you have got to listen to me; we may
just as well settle this matter out of hand. I must return home on
Thursday--and this is Tuesday evening. It will be impossible for you
to stay on here with those four children and no one responsible to
look after them. You appear half dead with grief and depression, and
you want a thorough change. The place is going to rack and ruin. Your
rent-roll, how much is it?"

"About fifteen thousand pounds a year--quite enough to keep me out of
anxiety," said Mr. Delaney, with a grim smile.

"It ought to be twenty thousand a year--in our father's time it was
quite that. No doubt you let your farms too cheap; and so much grass
round the house is disgraceful. Now, if I had the management--"

"But you see you have not, Jane," said Mr. Delaney. "The property
happens to belong to me."

"That is true, and I have a great deal too much on my mind to worry
myself about Delaney Manor; but, of course, it is the old place, and
you are my only brother, and I am anxious to help you in your great
affliction. When you married you broke off almost all connection with
me, but now--now I am willing to overlook the past. Do you, or do you
not, intend those children to run wild any longer? Even though they
are called after heathen idols they are flesh and blood, and it is to
be hoped that some religious influence may be brought to bear on them.
At the present moment, I conclude that they have none whatever."

"I never saw better children," said Mr. Delaney; "their mother brought