Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round.
“I submitted your letter to Miss Thorpe-Hatton,” he said. “She agrees with me that your ministrations are wholly unnecessary here. I wish you good evening!”
The young man caught for a moment at the pony’s rein.
“One moment, sir,” he begged. “You do not object to my appealing to Miss Thorpe-Hatton herself?”
A grim, mirthless smile parted the agent’s lips.
“By no means!” he answered, as he cantered off.
Victor Macheson stood for a moment watching the retreating figure. Then he looked across the park to where, through the great elm avenues, he could catch a glimpse of the house. A humorous smile suddenly brightened his face.
“It’s got to be done!” he said to himself. “Here goes!”