But the look had gone when he turned again, and he noticed
nothing as he handed over the writing materials.
"What are these for?" she asked.
"You'll see in a moment," replied Pratt, reseating himself, and drawing
his chair a little nearer her own. "Now listen--because it's no good
arguing any more. You're going to give me that stewardship and agency.
You'll simply tell your son that it's absolutely necessary to have a
steward. He'll agree. If he doesn't, no matter--you'll convince him.
Now, then, we must do it in a fashion that won't excite any suspicion.
Thus--in a few days--say next week--you'll insert in the Barford
papers--all three of them--the advertisement I'm going to dictate to
you. We'll put it in the usual, formal phraseology. Write this down, if
you please, Mrs. Mallathorpe."
He dictated an advertisement, setting forth the requirements of which he
had spoken, and Mrs. Mallathorpe obeyed him and wrote. She hated Pratt
more than ever at that moment--there was a quiet, steadfast
implacability about him that made her feel helpless. But she restrained
all sign of it, and when she had done his bidding she looked at him as
calmly as he looked at her.
"I am to insert this in the Barford papers next week," she said.
"And--what then?"
"Then you'll get a lot of applications for the job," chuckled Pratt.
"There'll be mine amongst them.
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