"Not at all!" said Betty decidedly. "You shall come and be my manager in London. The brewery wants one, badly. You shall have a handsome salary, Wallie—much more than you had at that beastly bank!"
"Very kind of you, I'm sure," laughed Neale. "But I think I'm inclined to put breweries in the same line with banks. Don't you be too rash, Betty—I'm not exactly cut out for commercialism. Not," he added reflectively, "not that I haven't been a very good servant to Chestermarke's. I have! But Chestermarkes are—what they are!"
The Earl, who had been watching the two young people with something of amused interest, suddenly came forward from the window.
"Mr. Neale!" he said.
"My lord!" responded Neale.
"What's your honest opinion about your late principals?" asked the Earl.
Neale shook his head slowly and significantly.
"I don't know," he answered.
"Do you know that they've—just now—refused Miss Fosdyke permission to examine her uncle's belongings?" continued the Earl. "That they wouldn't even let her enter the house?"
"No, I didn't know," replied Neale. "But I'm not surprised. Nothing that those two could do would ever surprise me."
"Feeling that, what do you advise in this case?" asked the Earl. "Come!—you're no longer in their employ—you can speak freely now. What do you think?"
