The house was pleasantly situated by the roadside in a little village named Finden. Opposite stood the church, a plain, low, square-towered building. As it was cattle-market to-day in the town of Wattleborough, droves of beasts and sheep occasionally went by, or the rattle of a grazier’s cart sounded for a moment. On ordinary days the road saw few vehicles, and pedestrians were rare.
Mrs Milvain and her daughters had lived here for the last seven years, since the death of the father, who was a veterinary surgeon. The widow enjoyed an annuity of two hundred and forty pounds, terminable with her life; the children had nothing of their own. Maud acted irregularly as a teacher of music; Dora had an engagement as visiting governess in a Wattleborough family. Twice a year, as a rule, Jasper came down from London to spend a fortnight with them; to-day marked the middle of his autumn visit, and the strained relations between him and his sisters which invariably made the second week rather trying for all in the house had already become noticeable.
In the course of the morning Jasper had half an hour’s private talk with his mother, after which he set off to roam in the sunshine. Shortly after he had left the house, Maud, her domestic duties dismissed for the time, came into the parlour where Mrs Milvain was reclining on the sofa.
‘Jasper wants more money,’ said the mother, when Maud had sat in meditation for a few minutes.
‘Of course. I knew that. I hope you told him he couldn’t have it.’
‘I really didn’t know what to say,’ returned Mrs Milvain, in a feeble tone of worry.
‘Then you must leave the matter to me, that’s all. There’s no money for him, and there’s an end of it.’
Maud set her features in sullen determination. There was a brief silence.
‘What’s he to do, Maud?’
‘To do? How do other people do? What do Dora and I do?’