“George, if you don’t hold your tongue we shall be at outs, you and I!”

“Oh, very well!” growled George. “But when that ram­shackle court-card starts talking as though he thought he ought to own Manifold, which has been in your family since the lord knows when—!”

“He doesn’t think anything of the sort. He thinks merely that he ought to own Broom Hall. But what would you do with it if you did own it, Laurie? I haven’t seen it, but I col­lect it’s a small estate, subsisting on the rents of various farms and holdings. Have you a fancy for setting up as an agricul­turist?”

“No, I have not!” replied Laurence angrily. “If that sneak­ing screw had left it to me, I’d have sold it—which I don’t doubt you’ll do—as though you weren’t swimming in riches already!”

“Yes, you would have sold it, and wasted its price within six months. Well, I can put it to better use than that.” The smile crept back into his eyes; he said consolingly: “Does it comfort you to know that it won’t add to my riches? It won’t: quite the reverse, I daresay!”

Mr Wingham directed a sharply suspicious look at him, but it was Lady Lindeth who spoke, exclaiming incredu­lously: “What? Do you mean to tell me that that detestable old man wasn’t possessed of a handsome fortune after all?”

“Doing it rather too brown!” said Laurence, his not un­comely features marred by a sneer.

“I can’t tell you yet what he was possessed of, ma’am, but I’ve been given no reason to suppose that he’s made me heir to more than a competence—deriving, I collect, from the es­tate. And as you and George have both frequently described to me the deplorable state of decay into which the place has fallen I should imagine that the task of bringing it into order is likely to swallow the revenue, and a good deal more besides.”

“Is that what you mean to do?” asked Julian curiously. “Bring it into order?”

“Possibly: I can’t tell, until I’ve seen it.”

“No, of course—Waldo, you know I don’t want it, but what the dooce do you—Oh!” He broke off, laughing, and said mischievously: “I’ll swear I know, but I won’t tell George—word of a Lindeth!”

“Tell me?” said George, with a scornful snort. “Do you take me for a flat, young sauce-box? He wants it for another Orphan Asylum, of course!”

“An Orphan Asylum!” Laurence jerked himself to his feet, staring at Sir Waldo with narrowed, glittering eyes. “So that’s it, is it? What ought to be mine is to be squandered on the scaff and raff of the back-slums! You don’t want it yourself, but you’d rather by far benefit a set of dirty, worthless brats than your own kith and kin!”

“I don’t think you are concerned with any of my kith and kin other than yourself, Laurie,” replied Sir Waldo. “That being so—yes, I would.”

“You—you—By God, you make me sick!” Laurence said, trembling with fury.

“Well, take yourself off!” recommended Julian, as flushed as Laurence was pale. “You only came here to nose out what you might, and you’ve done that! And if you think you’re at liberty to insult Waldo under any roof of mine I’ll have you know you’re much mistaken!”

“Make yourself easy: I’m going, toad-eater!” Laurence flung at him. “And you need not put yourself to the trouble of escorting me downstairs! Ma’am, your very obedient servant!”

“Tragedy Jack!” remarked George, as the door slammed behind the outraged dandy. “Well-done, young ’un!” he added, with a grin that suddenly lightened his rather heavy countenance: “You and your roofs! Try telling me I came to nose out what I might—and see what I’ll do to you!”

Julian laughed, relaxing. “Well, you did, but that’s different! You don’t grudge Cousin Joseph’s property to Waldo any more than I do!”

“No, but that ain’t to say I don’t grudge it to those curst brats of his!” said George frankly. He was himself a man of substance, but he was also the father of a large and hopeful family, and although he would have repudiated with indignation any suggestion that he was not very well able to provide for his children, he had for years been unable to consider his unknown and remote cousin’s problematical fortune without thinking that it would furnish him with a useful addition to his own estate. He was neither an unkindly nor an ungenerous man; he subscribed what was proper to Charity; but he did feel that Waldo carried the thing to excess. That, of course, was largely the fault of his upbringing: his father, the late Sir Thurstan Hawkridge, had been a considerable philanthropist; but George could not remember that he had ever gone to such absurd lengths as to succour and educate the lord only knew how many of the nameless and gallows-born waifs with which every city was ridden.

He looked up, to find that Waldo was watching him, the faintest hint of a question in his eyes. He reddened, saying roughly: “No, I don’t want Broom Hall, and I hope I know better than to waste my time recommending you not to drop your blunt providing for a parcel of paupers who won’t thank you for it, and, you may depend upon it, won’t grow up to be the respectable citizens you think they will, either! But I must say I do wonder what made that old miser leave his money to you!”

Sir Waldo could have enlightened him, but thought it more tactful to refrain from divulging that he figured in his eccentric relative’s Will as “the only member of my family who has paid no more heed to me than I have to him.”

“Well, for my part I think it very unsatisfactory,” said Lady Lindeth. “And not at all what poor Cousin Joseph would have wished!”

“You do mean to do that, Waldo?” Julian asked.

“Yes, I think so, if I find the place at all suitable. It may not be—and in any event I don’t want it prattled about, so just you keep your tongue, young man!”

“Well, of all the abominable injustices—! I didn’t prattle about your horrid brats: it was George! Waldo, if you mean to go north, may I go with you?”

“Why, yes, if you wish, but you’ll find it a dead bore, you know. There will be a good deal of business to be settled with Cousin Joseph’s attorney, which will keep me busy in Leeds; and whatever I decide to do with Broom Hall I must look into things there, and set about putting them in order. Dull work! In the middle of the Season, too!”

“Much I care! That’s what I think a dead bore: going from one horrible squeeze to another; doing the pretty to people I’d as lief never see again; showing-off in the Grand Strut—”

“You know, you’re spoilt, Julian!” interrupted George severely.

“No, I’m not. I never did like going to parties, and I never shall—not these insipid ton parties, at all events. I like living in the country. I say, Waldo, I wonder if there’s any fishing to be had near Broom Hall?” He saw that Sir Waldo was looking at Lady Lindeth, and added: “Oh, Mama don’t object! Do you, Mama?”

“No,” she answered. “You must do as you please—though it seems a pity you should go out of town just now. There’s the Aveburys’ Dress-party, and—However, if you prefer to go to Yorkshire with Waldo I am sure I have nothing to say!”

There was a good deal of reluctance in her voice, which one at least of her audience recognized and appreciated. She was a devoted but not a foolish parent; and while, on the one hand, she was bent on thrusting her son into the heart of the ton, and (if possible) arranging an advantageous marriage for him; on the other, she had far too much wisdom either to try to drive him against his inclination, or to cast the least rub in the way of his allegiance to his cousin Waldo. It stood greatly to her credit that almost from the hour of her widowhood she had made up her mind that she must never keep Julian tied to her apron-strings. But although she had adhered strictly to this resolve she had suffered many qualms, fearing that the very sweetness of his disposition might be his undoing. He was a handsome boy, and one who had come into the world hosed and shod, as the saying was; and her dread was that he might be flattered and coaxed into such company as Laurence kept, with disastrous results. With Waldo he was not only safe but fortunate as well, since Waldo, taking him into his own circle, was introducing him to men of the first rank and character. That most of these gentlemen were addicted to the more dangerous, and (in her view) more degrading forms of sport, she did not allow to weigh with her. It was incomprehensible to her why any man should wish to risk his neck in the hunting field, or in a curricle race: or should derive the smallest satisfaction from planting a flush hit in the face of some unoffending acquaintance, encountered in Jackson’s Boxing Saloon; but she was fortified in her acceptance of these peculiar activities by the knowledge that no female was fitted to be a judge of such matters; and by the realization that nothing was farther from her ambition than to see her son joining the ranks of those who abjured violent sports. Furthermore, however many pangs of jealousy she might have been made to suffer when, having failed to turn Julian from some adolescent and ill-judged start, she had seen Waldo blight it by the mere lifting of an eyebrow, she could still be thankful to him. His ideas might not coincide with hers; she might resent Julian’s devotion to him; but while she knew his influence over her darling to be strong no maternal apprehensions seriously troubled her.

She met his eyes, and saw the understanding smile in them. He said: “I know, ma’am—but where’s the use? I’ll take good care of him!”

The annoying thing about him was that he did know, though never had she confided in him her ambition to see Julian achieve the social success to which his birth, his looks, and his fortune entitled him. She responded tartly: “He is of age, and very well able, I trust, to take care of himself! A very odd idea of me you must have, my dear Waldo, if you think he is obliged to ask my permission for anything he may wish to do!”