LORD VARGRAVE was sitting alone in his library, with his account-books before him. Carefully did he cast up the various sums which, invested in various speculations, swelled his income. The result seemed satisfactory—and the rich man threw down his pen with an air of triumph.

“I will invest L120,000 in land—only L120,000. I will not be tempted to sink more. I will have a fine house—a house fitting for a nobleman—a fine old Elizabethan house—a house of historical interest. I must have woods and lakes—and a deer-park, above all. Deer are very gentlemanlike things, very. De Clifford’s place is to be sold, I know; they ask too much for it, but ready money is tempting. I can bargain—bargain, I am a good hand at a bargain. Should I be now Lord Baron Vargrave, if I had always given people what they asked? I will double my subscriptions to the Bible Society and the Philanthropic, and the building of new churches. The world shall not say Richard Templeton does not deserve his greatness. I will—Come in. Who’s there?—come in.”

The door gently opened—the meek face of the new peeress appeared. “I disturb you—I beg your pardon—I—”

“Come in, my dear, come in—I want to talk to you—I want to talk to your ladyship—sit down, pray.”

Lady Vargrave obeyed.

“You see,” said the peer, crossing his legs, and caressing his left foot with both hands, while he see-sawed his stately person to and fro in his chair—“you see that the honour conferred upon me will make a great change in our mode of life, Mrs. Temple—I mean Lady Vargrave. This villa is all very well—my country house is not amiss for a country gentleman—but now we must support our rank. The landed estate I already possess will go with the title—go to Lumley—I shall buy another at my own disposal, one that I can feel thoroughly mine—it shall be a splendid place, Lady Vargrave.”

“This place is splendid to me,” said Lady Vargrave, timidly.

“This place—nonsense—you must learn loftier ideas, Lady Vargrave; you are young, you can easily contract new habits, more, easily, perhaps, than myself. You are naturally ladylike, though I say it—you have good taste, you don’t talk much, you don’t show your ignorance—quite right. You must be presented at court, Lady Vargrave—we must give great dinners, Lady Vargrave. Balls are sinful, so is the opera, at least I fear so—yet an opera-box would be a proper appendage to your rank, Lady Vargrave.”

“My dear Mr. Templeton—”

“Lord Vargrave, if your ladyship pleases.”

“I beg pardon. May you live long to enjoy your honours; but I, my dear lord—I am not fit to share them: it is only in our quiet life that I can forget what—what I was. You terrify me when you talk of court—of—”

“Stuff, Lady Vargrave! stuff; we accustom ourselves to these things. Do I look like a man who has stood behind a counter? rank is a glove that stretches to the hand that wears it. And the child, dear child,—dear Evelyn, she shall be the admiration of London, the beauty, the heiress, the—oh, she will do me honour!”

“She will, she will!” said Lady Vargrave, and the tears gushed from her eyes.

Lord Vargrave was softened.

“No mother ever deserved more from a child than you from Evelyn.”

“I would hope I have done my duty,” said Lady Vargrave, drying her tears.

“Papa, papa!” cried an impatient voice, tapping at the window, “come and play, papa—come and play at ball, papa!”

And there, by the window, stood that beautiful child, glowing with health and mirth—her light hair tossed from her forehead, her sweet mouth dimpled with smiles.

“My darling, go on the lawn,—don’t over-exert yourself—you have not quite recovered that horrid sprain—I will join you immediately—bless you!”

“Don’t be long, papa—nobody plays so nicely as you do;” and, nodding and laughing from very glee, away scampered the young fairy. Lord Vargrave turned to his wife.

“What think you of my nephew—of Lumley?” said he, abruptly.

“He seems all that is amiable, frank, and kind.”

Lord Vargrave’s brow became thoughtful. “I think so too,” he said, after a short pause; “and I hope you will approve of what I mean to do. You see Lumley was brought up to regard himself as my heir—I owe something to him, beyond the poor estate which goes with, but never can adequately support, my title. Family honours, hereditary rank, must be properly regarded. But that dear girl—I shall leave her the bulk of my fortune. Could we not unite the fortune and the title? It would secure the rank to her, it would incorporate all my desires—all my duties.”

“But,” said Lady Vargrave, with evident surprise, “if I understand you rightly, the disparity of years—”

“And what then, what then, Lady Vargrave? Is there no disparity of years between us?—a greater disparity than between Lumley and that tall girl. Lumley is a mere youth, a youth still, five-and-thirty; he will be little more than forty when they marry; I was between fifty and sixty when I married you, Lady Vargrave. I don’t like boy and girl marriages: a man should be older than his wife. But you are so romantic, Lady Vargrave. Besides, Lumley is so gay and good-looking, and wears so well. He has been very nearly forming another attachment; but that, I trust, is out of his head now. They must like each other. You will not gainsay me, Lady Vargrave, and if anything happens to me—life is uncertain—”

“Oh, do not speak so—my friend, my benefactor!”

“Why, indeed,” resumed his lordship, mildly, “thank Heaven, I am very well—feel younger than ever I did—but still life is uncertain; and if you survive me, you will not throw obstacles in the way of my grand scheme?”

“I—no,—no—of course you have the right in all things over her destiny; but so young—so soft-hearted, if she should love one of her own years—”

“Love!—pooh! love does not come into girls’ heads unless it is put there. We will bring her up to love Lumley. I have another reason—a cogent one—our secret!—to him it can be confided—it should not go out of our family. Even in my grave I could not rest if a slur were cast on my respectability—my name.”

Lord Vargrave spoke solemnly and warmly; then muttering to himself, “Yes, it is for the best,” he took up his hat and quitted the room. He joined his stepchild on the lawn. He romped with her—he played with her—that stiff, stately man!—he laughed louder than she did, and ran almost as fast. And when she was fatigued and breathless, he made her sit down beside him, in a little summer-house, and, fondly stroking down her disordered tresses, said, “You tire me out, child; I am growing too old to play with you. Lumley must supply my place. You love Lumley?”

“Oh, dearly, he is so good-humoured, so kind: he has given me such a beautiful doll, with such eyes!”

“You shall be his little wife—you would like to be his little wife?”

“Wife! why, poor mamma is a wife, and she is not so happy as I am.”

“Your mamma has bad health, my dear,” said Lord Vargrave, a little discomposed. “But it is a fine thing to be a wife and have a carriage of your own, and a fine house, and jewels, and plenty of money, and be your own mistress; and Lumley will love you dearly.”

“Oh, yes, I should like all that.”

“And you will have a protector, child, when I am no more.”

The tone, rather than the words, of her stepfather struck a damp into that childish heart. Evelyn lifted her eyes, gazed at him earnestly, and then, throwing her arms round him, burst into tears.

Lord Vargrave wiped his own eyes, and covered her with kisses.

“Yes, you shall be Lumley’s wife, his honoured wife, heiress to my rank as to my fortunes.”

“I will do all that papa wishes.”

“You will be Lady Vargrave, then, and Lumley will be your husband,” said the stepfather, impressively. “Think over what I have said. Now let us join mamma. But, as I live, here is Lumley himself. However, it is not yet the time to sound him:—I hope that he has no chance with that Lady Florence.”