"But I don't love William Henry—in that way, aunt," replied Polly. "And besides, William Henry loves——"
And just then William Henry made a second dramatic appearance, holding himself very stiffly and straight, and leading in Miss Durrant.
"Father and mother," he said, "this lady's going to be your daughter."
So the trouble at Five Oaks Farm came to a good ending. For everybody was satisfied that the best had happened, and therefore was happy.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SPOILS TO THE VICTOR
The man of law, bland, courtly, old-world mannered, tilted back his chair, put the tips of his fingers together and smiled at the grey-haired, hard-featured man who sat, grim and silent, on the other side of his desk.
"My dear Mr. Nelthorp!" he said, in the tone of one pronouncing a final judgment. "It doesn't matter a yard of that tape what either Sutton or his solicitors say. We know—know, mind!—that it is utterly impossible for him to take up the mortgages. He is at your mercy."
Martin Nelthorp stared hard at Mr. Postlethwaite's smiling face—somewhere far back in his mental consciousness he was wondering why Postlethwaite always smiled in that bland, suave manner when he dispensed advice from his elbow-chair. It was a smile that seemed to be always on hand when wanted, and it was never so sweet as when disagreeable things were to be dealt with. It seemed to Martin Nelthorp that there was nothing to smile at in the matter they were discussing—certainly there was no humour or pleasure in the situation for the immediate subject of discussion, Richard Sutton. But Mr. Postlethwaite continued to smile and to hold his head a little on one side, watching his client from between half-closed eyelids.
"At your mercy," he repeated softly. "Ab-so-lute-ly at your mercy."