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“There’s another girl in this, I suppose,” said the lawyer suddenly; “well, I don’t want to hear. It’s for you to decide what you’ll do—marry the girl or defend the action and get the damages reduced—it’s a stiff claim. You and your father had better go away, talk it over again, and let me know. If you defend, you’ll have to go up to London. In the box, least said is soonest mended. You’ll simply say you found you were mistaken, and thought it more honourable to break off at once than to go on. That sometimes goes down rather well with juries, if the man looks straightforward.”

The Bowdens went away. Steer passed them on the journey home. He was alone, driving that mare of his. The Bowdens grinned faintly as he went by. Then Bowden called out two words:

“Stickin’ plaster!”

If Steer heard he gave no sign, but his ears looked very red.

When his hurrying cart was a speck at the top of the steep rise, Bowden turned a little towards his son.

“I want to make that chap sweat,” he said.

“Ah!” answered Ned.