In the passage he wavered, wondering if he should go up again to his room or wander out in the heat. If Mrs. Tracy had not been in the porch his preference would have been to return there and go to sleep again in the hammock. Then he determined to go back and have it out with her.

"Can't I help with those peas?" he asked, sitting down beside her. She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes of condemnation. "No, I don't want any help with the peas. Or any help from you, anyhow. You'd better go upstairs and sleep off your drunk before Miss Spear and Mr. Lorburn come round again—"

"My drunk?" Vance flushed crimson. "I don't know what you mean—"

"The words are English, I guess. And you'll want all your wits about you when you see Mr. Lorburn."

"Who's Mr. Lorburn? Why should he want to see me?"

"He's the owner of the Willows. He'll tell you soon enough why he wants to see you."

Vance felt a sinking of the heart. "I don't know what Mr. Lorburn's got to say to me," he muttered, but he did.

"Well, I presume he does." Mrs. Tracy pushed aside the basket of peas and stood up. Her face was a leaden white and her lower lip twitched. "Not as I care," she continued, in a level voice as blank as her eyes, "what he says to you, or what you feel about it. What's a few old books, one way or another? I don't care if you did take his books—"

"Take his books?" Vance gasped; but she paid no heed.