and sniggered.
‘Heir-apparent is only the eldest son, who cannot be displaced by any contingency.’
‘And there’s a horrid, little, artful school teacher, who drew him in years ago—before I was married even,’ said Mrs. Morton. ‘No doubt she will try to keep him now. Most likely she always knew what was going to happen. Cannot he be set free from the entanglement?’
‘Oh!’ gasped Constance.
‘That is serious,’ observed Mr. Rollstone gravely. ‘It would be an unfortunate commencement to have an action for breach of promise of marriage.’
‘She would never dare,’ said Mrs. Morton. ‘She is as poor as a rat, and could not do it!’
‘Well, Mrs. Morton,’ said Mr. Rollstone, ‘if I may be allowed to tender my poor advice, it would be that you should be very cautious and careful not to give any offence to his lordship, or to utter what might be reported to him in a sinister manner.’
‘Oh, I know every one has enemies!’ said Mrs. Morton, tossing her head.
After this disappointment there was rather less interest displayed when Mr. Rollstone proceeded to track out and explain the whole Northmoor pedigree, from the great lawyer, Sir Michael Morton, who had gained the peerage, down to the failure of the direct line, tracing the son from whom Francis and Charles Morton were descended. Certainly Miss Marshall must have been wonderfully foresighted if she had engaged herself with a view to the succession, for at the time it began, the last Lord Northmoor had two sons and a brother living! There was also a daughter, the Honourable Bertha Augusta.
‘Is she married?’ demanded Mrs. Morton.
‘It is not marked here, and if it had been mentioned in the papers, I should not have failed to record it.’
‘And how old is she?’
‘The author of this peerage would never be guilty of the solecism of recording a lady’s age,’ said Mr. Rollstone gravely; ‘but as the Honourable Arthur was born in 1848, and the Honourable Michael in 1850, we may infer that the young lady is no longer in her first youth.’
‘And not married? Nearly Fr—Lord Northmoor’s age. She must be an old cat who will set her mind on marrying him,’ sighed Mrs. Morton, ‘and will make him cut all his own relations.’
‘Then Mary Marshall might be the better lookout,’ said Ida.
‘She could never be unkind,’ breathed little Constance.
‘There is no knowing,’ said Mr. Rollstone oracularly; ‘but the result of my observations has been that the true high-bred aristocracy are usually far more affable and condescending than those elevated from a lower rank.’
‘Oh, I do hope for Miss Marshall,’ said Constance in a whisper to Rose.
‘Nasty old thing—a horrid old governess,’ returned Ida; and they tittered, scarcely pausing to hear Mr. Rollstone’s announcement of the discovery that he had entered the marriage in 1879 of the Honourable Arthur Michael to Lady Adela Emily, only daughter of the Earl of Arlington, and the death of the said Honourable Arthur by a carriage accident four years later.
Then Herbert tumbled in, bringing a scent of tea and tar, and was greeted with an imploring injunction to brush his hair and wash his hands—both which operations he declared that he had performed, spreading out his brown hands, which might be called clean, except for ingrained streaks of tar. Mr. Rollstone tried to console his mother by declaring that it was aristocratic to know how to handle the ropes; and Herbert, sitting among the girls, began, while devouring sausages, to express his intention of having a yacht, in which Rose should be taken on a voyage. No, not Ida; she would only make a fool of herself on board; and besides, she had such horrid sticking-out ears, with a pull at them, which made her scream, and her mother rebuke him; while Mr. Rollstone observed that the young gentleman had much to learn if he was to conform to aristocratic manners, and Herbert under his breath hung aristocratic manners, and added that he was not to be bored, at any rate, till he was a lord; and then to salve any shock to his visitor, proceeded to say that his yacht should be the Rose, and invite her to a voyage.
‘Certainly not till you can behave yourself,’ replied Rose; and there was a general titter among the young people.
CHAPTER III
WHAT IS HONOUR?
‘Here is a bit of news for you,’ said Sir Edward Kenton, as, after a morning of work with his agent, both came in to the family luncheon. ‘Mr. Burford tells me that the Northmoor title has descended on his agent, Morton.’
‘That stick!’ exclaimed George, the son and heir.
‘Not altogether a stick, Mr. Kenton,’ said the bald-headed gentlemanly agent. ‘He is very worthy and industrious!’
Frederica Kenton and her brother looked at each other as if this character were not inconsistent with that of a stick.
‘Poor man!’ said their mother. ‘Is it not a great misfortune to him?’
‘I should think him sensible and methodical,’ said Sir Edward. ‘By the way, did you not tell me that it was his diligence that discovered the clause to which our success was owing in the Stockpen suit?’
‘Yes, Sir Edward, through his indefatigable diligence in reading over every document connected with the matter. I take shame to myself,’ he added, smiling, ‘for it was in a letter that I had read and put aside, missing that passage.’
‘Then I am under great obligations to him?’ said Sir Edward.
‘I could also tell of what only came to my knowledge many years later, and not through himself, of attempts made to tamper with his integrity, and gain private information from him which he had steadily baffled.’
‘There must be much in him,’ said Lady Kenton, ‘if only he is not spoilt!’
‘I am afraid he is heavily weighted,’ said Mr. Burford. ‘His brother’s widow and children are almost entirely dependent on him, more so, in my opinion, than he should have allowed.’
‘Exactly what I should expect from such a sheep,’ said George Kenton.
‘There is this advantage,’ said the lawyer, ‘it has prevented his marrying.’
‘At least that fatal step has been averted,’ said the lady, smiling.
‘But unluckily there is an entanglement, an endless engagement to a governess at Miss Lang’s.’
‘Oh,’ cried Freda, who once, during a long absence of the family abroad, had been disposed of at Miss Lang’s, ‘there was always a kind of whisper among us that Miss Marshall was engaged, though it was high treason to be supposed to know.’
‘Was that the one you called Creepmouse?’ asked her brother.
‘George, you should not bring up old misdeeds! She was a harmless old thing. I believe the tinies were very fond of her, but we elders had not much to do with her, only we used to think her horridly particular.’
‘Does that mean conscientious?’ asked her father.
‘Perhaps
