Perhaps the night brought reflection; at all events, Mr. M’Kinlay had so far recovered himself, that he came down to breakfast with a smile on his face and a mass of fresh-opened letters in his hand, with whose contents he purposed to amuse the company.

Miss Courtenay’s manner was so kind, so actually cordial, too, that he felt perfectly reassured on the score of their last interview; and as Sir Within was not present—he never made his appearance till late in the afternoon—all went on pleasantly and well.

Giving the precedence to “fashionable intelligence,” Mr. M’Kinlay related how certain great people were about to marry certain other great people, with intimations as to the settlements, and, in some cases, a minute account of the costly presents to the bride—all circumstances which, somehow, seem to have their interest for every age, and class, and condition of humanity. Some of these were known to Vyner, and he asked about them with eagerness. Grenfell knew none of them except by name, but he spoke of them with all the confidence of an old and intimate friend. Of the “men,” without using their titles; of the “women,” as dear Lady Fanny, or that charming little Lady Grace. So that hearing him was actually imbibing an atmosphere of aristocracy, inhaling the Peerage at every respiration.

“What is the large packet with all the seals on it, Mr. M’Kinlay?” asked Georgina. “It has been torturing my curiosity in the most painful manner these last ten minutes.”

“This, my dear Miss Courtenay,” said he, laying his hand on a somewhat bulky parcel, “is not for me, though it came under cover to my address. It is for Sir Within Wardle, in a lady’s handwriting.”

“I think I know the hand,” said Miss Courtenay, as she bent her head over it.

“Of course you do, Aunt Georgy. It is Kate’s. Nobody ever made those dear little round symbols but herself. It is the very prettiest writing in the world.”

“By the way,” said Mr. M’Kinlay, searching amongst the papers before him, “there is something here—I just glanced at it—from that young lady. Ay, here it is! You know, Sir Gervais, that you instructed me to write to the land agents of the late Mr. Luttrell, and inform them of your intention to confirm the deed of gift of the lodge in Donegal on Miss Luttrell; in consequence of which I wrote to Messrs. Cane and Carter, and here is their reply. But perhaps I had better keep these business matters for another opportunity?”

“Not at all. We are all friends here, and all about equally interested in these affairs,” said Sir Gervais. “Go on.”

Mr. M’Kinlay mumbled over, in an indistinct tone, something that sounded like an apology for not having more promptly answered his late communication. “‘It was only yesterday,’” he read aloud, “‘that we were in receipt of Miss Luttrell’s reply. The young lady refuses to accept of the property in question. She declines to admit that it had been at any time in the possession of her family, and desires me, while expressing her deep sense of gratitude, to explain that, associated as the spot is to her with a great calamity, it never could be an object of her desire or ambition.’”

“She refers to that scrimmage where her old grandfather killed a man,” said Grenfell, stirring his tea. “Really I fancied they took these things much easier in Ireland.”

“Don’t you see that the young lady is of the exalted school? Not to say that, as she always gambled for a high stake, she can’t abide low play.”

This bitter speech Georgina addressed directly to Grenfell, as the one person in the company adapted to comprehend it. He nodded and smiled a perfect acquiescence with her, and Mr. M’Kinlay read on:

“‘For your own guidance, therefore, as well as Sir Gervais Vyner’s—if you should desire to make the communication to him—I may remark, that any further insistance on this project would be perfectly ineffectual. Everything I have seen of Miss Luttrell has shown her to be a person of most inflexible will, and a determination far beyond the common. This will be apparent to you when you hear that she is equally resolved to make over the Arran estate, bequeathed to her by her late uncle, to the present Mr. Luttrell, leaving herself, as I may say, totally penniless and unprovided for.’”

“What a noble-hearted, generous girl!” cried Vyner.

“The dear, high-hearted Kate!” murmured Ada.

“A most artful, designing minx!” whispered Georgina to Grenfell; “but I suspect that her scheme will not have the success she anticipates.”

“‘Of course,’” read on M’Kinlay, “‘I mention the last in perfect confidence to you.’”

“Oh, of course!” broke in Georgina, “my dear Mr. M’Kinlay; the very first trait I discover in myself of angelic self-devotion, I’ll certainly impart it to you under the seal of inviolable secresy. Mind, therefore, that you tell nobody what a mine of goodness, of charity, and self-denial I am.”

Mr. M’Kinlay bowed an acquiescence, not aware in the least to what he was acceding, so overcome was he by the astounding assurance that the world contained one creature who refused to accept a legacy or avail herself of a gift.

“I am such a poor, weak-minded, vacillatory being myself,” said Georgina, still turning to Grenfell as most likely to appreciate her meaning, “that I really feel terrified in the presence of these great-souled creatures, who refuse to be stirred by the common motives of humanity.”

“The girl must be a fool!” muttered M’Kinlay, with his eyes fixed on a postscript of Cane’s letter—“a perfect fool!” But, without explaining why he thought so, he bundled up his papers, and hurried away.

“What is the mysterious parcel? I am dying to know the content» of it,” said Georgina, as she stood at a window with Grenfell.

“I think I could guess,” said he, slowly.

“You think you could guess! And you have the coolness to tell me this, seeing all the tortures of my curiosity!”

“It is by the shape of the packet that I am disposed to believe I know what is in it.”

“Pray tell me! Do tell me!” said she, entreatingly.

“I don’t think I can. I don’t think I ought. I mean,” said be, in a more apologetic tone—“I mean, it is not my secret. It is another’s—that is, if my guess be the right one.”

“And you have the courage to heighten my eagerness by all this preamble! Why, my dear Mr. Grrenfell, they told me, that of all the men about town, none knew women as you did!”

“Who told you that?” asked he, eagerly.

“Scores of people.” And she quoted at random the most distinguished names of her acquaintance, every syllable of their high-sounding titles falling on Grenfell’s ear with a cadence perfectly enthralling. “Come, now,” said she, with a look of entreaty, “don’t worry me any longer. You see I know more than one half of the secret, if it be a secret, already; from whom it comes, and to whom it is addressed.”

“I am in your hands,” said he, in a tone of submission. “Come out into the garden, and I’ll tell you all I know.”

Georgina accepted his arm as he spoke, and they passed out into a shady alley that led down to the sea.

“If I be right,” said he, “and I’d go the length of a wager that I am, the packet you saw on the breakfast-table contains one of the most costly ornaments a woman ever wore. It was a royal present on the wedding-day of Sir Within Wardles mother, and sent by him to fulfil the same office to Miss Luttrell on becoming Mrs. Ladarelle.”

“You know this!” said she, in a slow, collected tone.

“I know it because he sent me to his gem-room at Dalradern to fetch it. He opened the casket in my presence, he showed me the jewels, he explained to me the peculiar setting. Emeralds on one side, opals on the other, so as to present two distinct suites of ornaments. I remember his words, and how his lips trembled as he said, ‘Ladies in these times were wont to turn their necklaces, now they only change their affections!’ You’d scarcely believe it, Miss Conrtenay, but it is fact, positive fact, the poor old man had been in love with her.”

“I certainly cannot stretch my credulity to that extent, Mr. Grenfell,” said she, with a shade of vexation in her voice, “though I could readily believe how an artful, unprincipled girl, with a field all her own, could manage to ensnare a most gentle, confiding nature into a degree of interest for her, that she would speedily assume to be a more tender feeling. And was the casket sent to her, Mr. Grenfell?” asked she, in a suddenly altered tone.

“Yes, I enclosed it, with an inscription dictated by Sir Within himself.”

“And she sends it back to him?” said she, pondering oyer each word as though it were charged with a deep significance.

“It would seem so.”

“I think you guess why. I am certain, if I have not taken a very wrong measure of Mr. Grenfell’s acuteness, that he reads this riddle pretty much as I do myself.”

“It is by no means improbable,” said Grenfell, who quickly saw the line her suspicions had taken. “I think it very likely the same interpretation has occurred to each of us.”

“Give me yours,” said she, eagerly.

“My reading is this,” replied he: “she has returned his present on the ground that, not being Mrs. Ladarelle, she has no claim to it. The restitution serving to show at the same moment a punctilious sense of honour, and, what she is fully as eager to establish, the fact that, being still unmarried, there is nothing to prevent Sir Within himself from a renewal of his former pretensions.”

“How well you know her! How thoroughly you appreciate her wily, subtle nature!” cried she, in warm admiration.

“Not that the game will succeed,” added he; “the poor old man is now beyond such captations as once enthralled him.”

“How so? What do you mean?” asked she, sharply.

“I mean simply what we all see. He is rapidly sinking into second childhood.”

“I declare, Mr. Grenfell, you astonish me!” said she, with an almost impetuous force of manner. “At one moment you display a most remarkable acuteness in reading motives and deciphering intentions, and now you make an observation actually worthy of Mr. M’Kinlay.”

“And so you do not agree with me?” asked he.

“Agree with you! certainly not. Sir Within Wardle is an old friend of ours. Certain peculiarities of manner he has. In a great measure they have been impressed upon him by the circumstances of his station. An ambassador, a great man himself, is constantly in the presence of a sovereign, who is still greater. The conflict of dignity with the respect due to royalty makes up a very intricate code of conduct and manner of which the possessor cannot always disembarrass himself, even in the society of his equals. Something of this you may have remarked in Sir Within’s manner; nothing beyond it, I am confident!”

“I only hope, my dear Miss Courtenay, that, if the day should come when my own faculties begin to fail me, I may be fortunate enough to secure you for my defender.”

“The way to ensure my advocacy will certainly not be by attacking an old and dear friend!” said she, with deep resentment in tone; and she turned abruptly and entered the house.

Mr. Grenfell looked after her for a moment in some astonishment. He was evidently unprepared for this sudden outburst of passion, but he quickly recovered himself, and, after a brief pause, resumed his walk, muttering below his breath as he went: “So, then, this is the game! What a stupid fool I have been not to have seen it before! All happening under my very eyes, too! I must say, she has done it cleverly—very cleverly.” And with his cordial appreciation of female skill, he lit his cigar, and, seating himself on the sea-wall, smoked and ruminated during the morning. There were many aspects of the question that struck him, and he turned from the present to the future with all that ready-wittedness that had so longed favoured him in life.

He heard the bell ring for luncheon, but he never stirred; he was not hungry, neither particularly anxious to meet Miss Courtenay again. He preferred to have some few words with her alone ere they met in society. He thought he had tact enough to intimate that he saw her project, and was quite ready to abet it without anything which could offend her dignity. This done, they would be sworn friends ever after. As he sat thus thinking, he heard a quiet step approaching. It was doubtless a servant sent to tell him that luncheon was served, and while doubting what reply to make, he heard M’Kinlay call out, “I have found you at last! I have been all over the house in search of you.”

“What is the matter? What has happened? Why are you so flurried—-eh?”

“I am not flurried. I am perfectly calm, perfectly collected—at least, as collected as a man can hope to be who has had to listen for half an hour to such revelations as I have had made me; but it is all over now, and I am thankful it is. All over and finished!”

“What is over? What is finished?”

“Everything, Sir—everything! I leave this within an hour—earlier if I can. I have sent two messengers for the horses, and I’d leave on foot—ay, Sir, on foot—rather than pass another day under this roof!”

“Will you have the extreme kindness to tell me why you are going off in this fashion?”

Instead of complying with this reasonable request, Mr. M’Kinlay burst out into a passionate torrent, in which the words “Dupe!” “Fool!” and “Cajoled!” were alone very audible, but his indignation subsided after a while sufficiently to enable him to state that he had been sent for by Sir Within, after breakfast, to confer with him on the subject of that codicil he had spoken of on the previous day.

“He was more eager than ever about it, Sir,” said he. “The girl had written him some very touching lines of adieu, and I found him in tears as I came to his bedside. I must own, too, that he talked more sensibly and more collectedly than before, and said, in a tone of much meaning, ‘When a man is so old and so friendless as I am, he ought to be thankful to do all the good he can, and not speculate on any returns either in feeling or affection I I left him, Sir, to make a brief draft of what he had been intimating to me. It would take me, I told him, about a couple of hours, but I hoped I could complete it in that time. Punctual to a minute, I was at his door at one o’clock; but guess my surprise when Miss Courtenay’s voice said, ‘Come in!’ Sir Within was in his dressing-gown, seated at the fire, the table before him covered with gems and trinkets, with which he appeared to be intently occupied. ‘Sit down, M’Kinlay,’ said he, courteously. ‘I want you to choose something here—something that Mrs. M’Kinlay would honour me by accepting.’ She whispered a word or two hastily in his ear, and he corrected himself at once, saying, ‘I ask pardon! I meant your respected mother. I remember you are a widower.’ To withdraw his mind from this painful wandering, I opened my roll of papers and mentioned their contents. Again she whispered him something, but he was evidently unable to follow her meaning; for he stared blankly at her, then at me, and said, ‘Yes, certainly, I acquiesce in everything.’ ‘It will be better, perhaps, to defer these little matters, Miss Courtenay,’ Said I, ‘to some moment when Sir Within may feel more equal to the fatigue of business.’ She stooped down and said something to him, and suddenly his eyes sparkled, his cheek flushed, and, laying his hand-with emphasis on the table, he said, ‘I have no need of Law or Lawyers, Sir! This lady, in doing me the honour to accord me her hand, has made her gift to me more precious by a boundless act of confidence; she will accept of no settlements.’ ‘Great Heavens! Miss Courtenay,’ whispered I, ‘is he not wandering in his mind? Surely this is raving!’ ‘I think, Sir, you will find that the only person present whose faculties are at fault is Mr. M’Kinlay. Certainly I claim exemption both for Sir Within Wardle and myself.’ It was all true, Sir—true as I stand here! She is to be his wife. As to her generosity about the settlements, I understood it at once. She had got the whole detail of the property from me only yesterday, and knew that provision was made—a splendid provision, too—for whomsoever he might marry. So much for the trustfulness!”

“But what does it signify to you, M’Kinlay? You are not a Lord Chancellor, with a function to look after deranged old men and fatherless young ladies, and I don’t suppose the loss of a settlement to draw will be a heart-break to you.”

“No, Sir; but, lawyer as I am, there are depths of perfidy I’m not prepared for.”

“Come in and wish them joy, M’Kinlay. Take my word for it, it might have been worse. Old Sir Within’s misfortune might have befallen you or myself!”