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“I shan’t be long.” Linda assured her. Her eyes narrowed. “Judith, do you think that two women ever know one another sufficiently well to be completely frank with one another?”

Judith laughed nervously.

“Yes, I suppose they do,” she said uncertainly.

“And you and 1 have known each other almost all our lives,” Linda mused. “That ought to be enough, surely! Well, Judith, what I want to say is quite brief and simple. It’s just this—don’t lose your heart to Charles, however wonderful he is!”

“Linda!” Judith was so obviously startled that for a second Linda wondered if she had made a mistake and put an idea into her head that had not been there before. But she was never one to doubt her own actions very long, so she went on confidently:

“I know it is quite shocking of me to say such a thing, but, as I said, we are old friends, and I’ve no wish to see you get hurt.”

“But why should I?” Judith protested. “I mean ”

Linda stubbed out her cigarette.

“I hope not. But I’m not going to take any chances! Judith, has it never seemed strange that a man in Charles’s position should not only take on such a job but also should stick it in spite of the way in which you have treated him? Oh, it’s no good your pretending! You’ve behaved outrageously and you know it! Well, isn’t it obvious then? Charles stayed on because he had something to gain by doing so!”

“What?” Judith asked with a defiance that did not even convince herself, let alone Linda.

“Windygates, of course!” Linda said coolly. “You must know that sooner or later a man of Charles’s type wants roots—something permanent and established. Charles’s father left him money.”

“You did know that!” Judith interrupted, and it was Linda’s turn to be surprised. She had no idea that Judith had learned of it. In fact, she had intended to use it as one of her most convincing arguments. However— “Of course I did! Charles told me as soon as—” she checked herself, but Judith was insistent.

“You’d better go on!” she said stonily. “You’ve said too much now to stop.”

Linda shrugged her shoulders.

“Perhaps I have,” she agreed. “Very well, then! When he realised that there are some shrews who are untamable and that it would be better to buy the place than— get it through marriage. He is the sort of man who prefers to be master in his own home, you see!”

“By marriage!” Judith whispered. “Oh, no. I know he would like to own Windygates, but he couldn’t have been so ”

“So practical?” Linda shrugged. “Why not? Really, Judith, for a girl who has never troubled to look at anything from any point of view but her own, I must say I think you expect a lot from other people! Charles knows what he wants and he intends to get it! Is he any different from you or me or any of us? A little more clever, perhaps, one has to admit that! He has the patience to approach his objective obliquely so that it is not too obvious—he will always get what he wants! You will sell!”

“But—but you speak as if it is Charles’s fault that we’ve got a bad name,” Judith said quickly. “Surely you can see that if he really wanted to make it impossible for me to stay he would not have interfered over Shawbury. He’d have left me to get into a mess that would have made everybody absolutely hate me!”

Linda laughed scornfully.

“Don’t be a fool, Judith! He has every interest in keeping Windygates clear of infection! He’s looking to the future, my dear, when it is his own, not worrying about you! But, as Desmond pointed out, he has achieved popularity at your expense! Oh yes, Charles is clever, he knows how to extract the last bit of advantage from a situation.”

“You sound as if you admire him for it!” Judith commented.

Linda raised her brows.

“But I do, my dear!” she said with convincing earnestness. “It is one of the characteristics that I admire in any man! It is particularly desirable in a husband! These days, more than ever before, a woman wants a man who knows how to look after his own interests—and hers. And I’ve always wanted Windygates! I think it is delightful—although you have never made the most of it! 1 shall use the big drawing-room far more, for instance. I tell you one thing, Judith—” She got up, flicking an odd piece of cigarette from her dress, “you will have the satisfaction of knowing that the place is in the hands of people who really value it and know how to look after it!”

Judith did not reply. Her lips were pressed very tightly together, her eyes burning. For a moment she faced Linda scornfully and the older girl’s eyes fell. But she covered that by saying rather impatiently:

“Really, Judith, you must try to take a more realistic view of life! After all, you’re not a child any more.” But she was talking to the empty air. Judith had turned on her heel and gone out of reach of her tongue. Linda shrugged her shoulders. Really, it had been too easy! Judith, for all her arrogance, was extraordinarily simple! Nor had she any fears either that Judith would ask for confirmation that they were going to be married or, when it came to the point, that she would refuse to sell at Charles’s price. Pride would forbid the one and sheer inability to stand the strain would compel the other.

She had no compunction about what she had done.

At least in one thing she agreed with Miss Harriet— that Judith had never had a fair chance to enjoy life. Well, once she had sold Windygates, there was no reason why she should not have a marvellous time! She could marry Desmond, and if she had the sense to tie up her capital in such a way that he could not touch it, he would make a delightful husband.

Linda began to feel that she had really been something of a benefactor to Judith.

Judith lay face down among the bracken in her secret sanctuary. She was very still and her eyes were dry and burning with tears that would not be shed.

She felt as if she had touched the very depths of humiliation and disillusion. She could see no good in anything or anybody, least of all herself.

Of course, really she had always known that Linda was pretty hard, but she had never before realised just how hard. Her protestations that she was speaking for Judith’s good were just nonsense. There was only one thing that prompted any action on Linda’s part—her own interests. And Charles, she said, was just the same.

But Linda said that he was more clever than most, and of course she was right. He could contrive to turn black into white if it suited him. Her first impression had been right. She should never have let him persuade her to trust him. But now it was too late to think about that. And why he had wanted to gain her trust was so obvious now. He wanted her to be off her guard so that he could have a free hand to ingratiate himself with the other farmers. The more difficult he could make it for her to stay, the cheaper he could hope to get Windygates. Only, sometimes he himself was off his guard and she saw the real man. Secretly, he laughed at her and despised her. He treated her like a child—or, what was it Linda had said? A shrew that could not be tamed.

A muffled sob broke from her lips. Linda pretended that she, Judith, might be on the verge of losing her heart to Charles, but there had never been, she told herself, such a possibility, and now she hated him with all her strength. If he were here, she would tell him.

“Judith, my dear little girl, what is it?” Charles
was
there, kneeling beside her, touching her shoulder. How like him, she thought angrily, to sneak up on her and catch her at a disadvantage!

She rolled over and sat up.

“I am not your little girl and there is nothing the matter!” she said coldly. “I have just been—thinking.”

He stood erect, surveying her with puzzled, troubled eyes.

“Will you tell me what about?” he asked gently. Judith stood up, brushing bits of leaves from her.

“Certainly,” she said deliberately. “I have been making plans for when I come back to England—if I do.”

“If you do?” he shot back. “But ”

“I have definitely decided that I shall sell Windygates,” she told him. “But—I am afraid that I shall not be able to give you the first refusal of it. You see, I really hardly think that would be fair to me!”

“What do you intend doing?” he asked quietly.

“Doing? Oh, I shall put it up to auction!” she said lightly. “One stands a much better chance of getting a good price that way, don’t you think?”

“Yes—possibly,” he agreed. “But you have no control over who buys it, remember! You might see it go to a man who regards it as nothing more than a commercial proposition and who will wring the last ounce out of your land instead of nursing it.”

He saw the quick spasm of pain that twisted her face, and knew that he had pierced the veil of indifference that she wore so unconvincingly. Then her face hardened.

“I shall not be here to see it, so it will not matter,” she told him with studied indifference.

“I wonder?” he said slowly. “Judith, at least tell me what has made you change your mind. Something has happened—-something, surely, that has made you—” he shook his head and went on slowly: “If I were not afraid of making a bad situation even worse, I should say ‘unhappy/ but I am sure you will deny that!”

“Of course I do!” she said promptly. No, it is just that I have had time to think things over now and, as I said, I don’t think it would be fair to myself to take the first price offered for Windygates. If you want it enough, you will pay for it!”

“I expect I shall,” he admitted. “But I must warn you that there are circumstances in which I shall not want it at all!”

“Oh!” she said blankly. “What circumstances?”

“No!” he shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you that unless—first of all—you tell me who it is that has been dribbling out some vile poison about me—and what it was!”

“You are quite mistaken—there was nothing—I told you—” Each sentence was begun but never finished. Linda had been quite right in thinking that Judith would never repeat what she had said. Pride made it impossible to tell a man that one had been suspected of falling in love with him.

“I see!” he said shortly. “Well, if you will not tell me yourself, there is only one thing for it. I shall have to find out myself! And,” he leaned a little towards her, “rest assured, I shall!”

“You won’t!” she said defiantly, and then, seeing that she had betrayed herself into admitting that he was right, added hastily: “There is nothing to find out!”

“No?” he asked thoughtfully. “Then why are you shaking as if you had got the ague?”

“Oh—!” Suddenly she stamped her foot. “I hate you! I wish I had never set eyes on you—everything was all right until you came.”

“No,” he said deliberately. “It wasn’t! But one of these days I promise you that everything will be all right for you! Won’t you believe me?”

“I will never trust, you or anyone else so long as I live!” she declared passionately, and ran away as quickly as she could. But the ground was rough and Charles’s legs longer than hers.

“No!” he said sternly. “This time you are not going to run away until you have listened to what I have to say! Because that is your trouble, Judith! You will not stand your ground when you are face to face with any thing unpleasant. And until you do that you will never be on good terms with yourself! Listen, my dear!” His voice became infinitely persuasive, utterly gentle. “I asked you to give me the first refusal of Windygates because I believe that, in your present mood, you might sell it to the first comer only to regret it for the rest of your life. It is your home, Judith! There could never be another place like it to you! And I promise you this, if I buy it from you, I will sell it back to you at any time you like for three-quarters of the price I pay you for it! Judith, Judith, don’t you see it’s you I’m thinking of— won’t you trust me?”

“Why should I?” she asked hardly. “To me it looks as if you are trying to persuade me not to auction the place so that you will get it cheap! But—if you can give me any single reason why I should trust you—well, I’ll listen!”

He looked broodingly into her face as if he were searching there for something, but evidently he did not find it, for he shook his head.

“No, it wouldn’t do any good,” he told her. “There is a reason.”

“Well, what is it?” she demanded, her hands behind her back, her arrogant young head in the air.

“You are too much of a child to understand,” he said quietly. “One day, perhaps ”

Judith laughed.

“You are clever, you know! Linda said you were!”

“Linda—” he said sharply, but this time Judith had made her escape and he let her go.

Once she was sure that he had not followed her she slowed down. She was breathless, but from her encounter rather than because she had been running. She was very angry with herself, too, for having mentioned Linda’s name. Not that it really mattered, of course! No doubt Linda would tell him all about their interview anyhow. Or would she? Would Charles be pleased to know just how far his plans had been revealed to her? Or had he himself dictated what Linda was to say to her so that she would realise just how impossible it was for her to stay on at Windygates? She did not know, and her brain seemed on fire as she tried to puzzle it all out.

Vaguely she realised that Linda’s had been essentially a woman’s approach to the situation, but what she did not realise was that in one thing at least Linda had lied. She really did admire what she believed to be Charles’s cleverness, but it had been a long time before she had been able to work out to her own satisfaction just what motives activated him. But at last everything had seemed perfectly clear to her—so clear that it had hardly seemed to her that she lied when telling Judith that Charles himself had told her.

She walked slowly back to the house, and now her head was full, not of Charles and what he had said, but of her own plans.

Somehow or other she must make it quite clear to both Linda and Charles that it did not matter what they did, neither of them had the power to hurt her.

Suddenly she realised that there was a car standing outside the house which she recognised as that of the local bank manager. With a little frown she decided that she did not want to see him just then. He was an extremely good-natured man, but rather talkative and always so tremendously interested in the affairs of what he called “the young people.” She would go round to the back of the house—anyway, it would not matter, because doubtless it was Aunt Harriet whom he had come to see.