Barbara threw back her head and looked at him from under lowered lashes.
“I mind your saying it,” she said. “And I may as well tell you—now—that I don’t intend to discharge Peg; and I must always have a voice in the management of the farm. It is Jimmy’s farm, you know.”
“I’ve heard you say so before,” he said sulkily. “But why isn’t half of it yours, I’d like to know?”
“Because Jimmy is the last Preston, and father wanted it so. I shall have all that comes off of it till Jimmy is of age. We——”
She hesitated, with a doubtful look at him. “There is other good land near. We shall, perhaps, be able to acquire it; start fresh orchards, and——”
“Perhaps—perhaps!” he echoed irritably. “I’ll tell you straight it’s all nonsense. Under the law you’re entitled to half. Ask old Jarvis, if you don’t believe me.”
He watched the quick color rise in Barbara’s face, with a low laugh of arrogant amusement.
“Jarvis is a curious old duffer,” he added, lazily stroking the smooth shoulder of his horse. “But he knows rather better than to tackle me on certain subjects.”
His eyes were fastened on Barbara, narrowly watching her.
“He’s tried it once or twice; but I called his bluff each time. He hasn’t been here lately, has he?”