I walked at once to the door, and Mr Fairlie resignedly `tinkled' his hand-bell. Before I left the room I turned round and addressed him for the last time.

`Whatever happens in the future, sir,' I said, `remember that my plain duty of warning you has been performed. As the faithful friend and servant of your family, I tell you, at parting, that no daughter of mine should be married to any man alive under such a settlement as you are forcing me to make for Miss Fairlie.'

The door opened behind me, and the valet stood waiting on the threshold.

`Louis,' said Mr Fairlie, `show Mr Gilmore out, and then come back and hold up my etchings for me again. Make them give you a good lunch downstairs. Do, Gilmore, make my idle beasts of servants give you a good lunch!'

I was too much disgusted to reply -- I turned on my heel, and left him in silence. There was an up train at two o'clock in the afternoon, and by that train I returned to London.

On the Tuesday I sent in the altered settlement, which practically disinherited the very persons whom Miss Fairlie's own lips had informed me she was most anxious to benefit. I had no choice. Another lawyer would have drawn up the deed if I had refused to undertake it.

My task is done. My personal share in the events of the family story extends no farther than the point which I have just reached. Other pens than mine will describe the strange circumstances which are now shortly to follow. Seriously and sorrowfully I close this brief record. Seriously and sorrowfully I repeat here the parting words that I spoke at Limmeridge House: -- No daughter of mine should have been married to any man alive under such a settlement as I was compelled to make for Laura Fairlie.