ended by giving way to it. I saw that he watched his daughter
closely, even anxiously, when she was talking to Angus Egerton, as
if he had already some suspicion about the state of her feelings
with regard to him. Mr. Egerton had caught sight of the open
portfolio, and had insisted on looking over the sketches--not the
first of Milly's that he had seen by a great many. I noticed the
grave, almost tender, smile with which he looked at the little
artistic 'bits' out of Cumber Wood. He went on talking to Mr.
Darrell all the time he was looking at these sketches; talking of
the neighbourhood and the changes that had come about of late years,
and a little of the Priory, and his intentions with regard to
improvements.

'I can only creep along at a snail's pace,' he said; 'for I am
determined not to get into debt, and I won't sell.'

'I wonder you never tried to let the priory in all those years that
you were abroad,' suggested Mr. Darrell.

Mr. Egerton shook his head, with a smile.

'I couldn't bring myself to that,' he said, 'though I wanted money
badly enough. There has never been a strange master at Cumber since
it belonged to the Egertons. I daresay it's a foolish piece of
sentimentality on my part; but I had rather fancy the old place
rotting slowly to decay than in the occupation of strangers.'

He was standing by the table where the open portfolio lay, with
Milly by his side, and one of the sketches in his hands, when Mrs.
Darrell came in at the window nearest to this little group, and