"
"It was here when we came, anyhow," replied Esther. "Well--I shall have
to go. You'll be all right until I come back."
"What time do you think it'll be?" asked Pratt. "Make it as soon as the
coast's clear--I want to be off."
"As soon as ever she's gone," agreed Esther. "I heard her order the
carriage for half-past two."
"And no fear of anybody else being about?" asked Pratt. "That butler
man, for instance? Or servants?"
"I'll see to it," replied Esther reassuringly. "I'll lock this door and
take the key until I come back--make yourself comfortable."
She locked Pratt in the old room and went off, and the willing prisoner
ate his sandwiches and drank his sherry, and looked out of a mullioned
window on the wide stretches of park and coppice and the breezy
moorlands beyond. He indulged in some reflections--not wholly devoid of
sentiment. He had cherished dreams of becoming the virtual owner of
Normandale. Always confident in his own powers, he had believed that
with time and patience he could have persuaded Nesta Mallathorpe to
marry him--why not? Now--all owing to that cursed and unfortunate
contretemps with Parrawhite, that seemed utterly impossible--all he
could do now was to save himself--and to take as much as he could get.
More than once that morning, as he made his way across country, he had
remembered Parrawhite's advice to take cash and be done with
it--perhaps, he reflected, it might have been better.
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