Would the Squire be there?
She remembered that she had to apologize for her absence of the day before.
She felt her pulse thumping a little as she opened the library door.

There was undoubtedly something about the Squire--some queer magnetism--born perhaps of his very restlessness and unexpectedness--that made life in his neighbourhood seldom less than interesting.

His temper this morning would probably be of the worst.

Something, or some one, had defeated all his schemes for a magnificent assertion of the rights of man.

His park was in the hands of the invaders.