When Pilar left the drawing room she walked slowly along the hall. Stephen Farr was coming in

through the garden door. He said:

“Well? Is the family conclave¹ over? Has the will been read?”

Pilar said, her breath coming fast:

“I have got nothing—nothing at all! It was a will made many years ago. My grandfather left

money to my mother, but because she is dead it does not go to me but goes back to them.”

Stephen said:

“That seems rather hard lines.”

Pilar said:

“If that old man had lived, he would have made another will. He would have left money to

me—a lot of money! Perhaps in time he would have left me all the money!”

Stephen said, smiling:

“That wouldn’t have been very fair either, would it?”

“Why not? He would have liked me best, that is all.”

Stephen said:

“What a greedy child you are. A real little golddigger.”

Pilar said soberly:

“The world is very cruel to women. They must do what they can for themselves—while they

are young. When they are old and ugly no one will help them.”

Stephen said slowly:

“That’s more true than I like to think. But it isn’t quite true. Alfred Lee, for instance, was

genuinely fond of his father in spite of the old man being thoroughly² trying and exacting³.”

Pilar’s chin went up.

“Alfred,” she said, “is rather a fool.”

Stephen laughed.

Then he said:

“Well, don’t worry, lovely Pilar. The Lees are bound to look after you, you know.”

Pilar said disconsolately⁴:

“It will not be very amusing, that.”

Stephen said slowly:

“No, I’m afraid it won’t. I can’t see you living here, Pilar. Would you like to come to South

Africa?”

Pilar nodded.

Stephen said:

“There’s sun there, and space. There’s hard work too. Are you good at work, Pilar?”

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