Notwithstanding Miss Grey’s testimony and all that had happened to make her quite sure of her position, it cannot be denied that Lady William awaited the lawyers’ reply to her letter with some anxiety. How does an uninstructed woman know what lawyers may do? They may find the clearest evidence wanting in something, some formality which may invalidate the whole. Had she not heard a hundred times of the difference between moral certainty and legal evidence? They might allege something of this sort, and perhaps, for anything she could tell, insist upon a trial, and the public appearance of witnesses, and the discussion of her marriage in the papers, a possibility which made Lady William’s heart sick. I am not at all sure (but then I know little more about law than Lady William did) that had Messrs. Fox and Round been pettifogging lawyers, and their clients petty and unknown people, they might not have attempted something of the kind; but, as a matter of fact, they had never advised their clients to do anything in the matter, and Lord Portcullis, who remembered his sister-in-law very well, and all the circumstances of Lord William’s death, had never entertained a doubt on the subject.

‘Certificates?’ he said, ‘why, I have seen the woman!’ as if that was more than certificates; and Lord Portcullis was not a man who was ignorant of the evil that exists in the world, or who was at all in a general way an optimist about women. It had been the Marchioness, more hasty, and more disposed to think that by a bold coup anything could be done, who hoped to secure the whole of Lord John’s fortune in that way. When she found that this was impossible (though she always retained a secret conviction that Lady William was ‘just as much Lady William as my old housekeeper is!’) my Lady Portcullis thought of another way—a way, indeed, which had been one of the two things she had thought of in sending her son Will to see into the affair.

‘If we can’t have it in any other way we might at least marry it’, she said to her husband. ‘If Will got it in the end it would not be altogether lost.’ And this was how it happened that the gay Guardsman, cursing his luck, was sent down again to Watcham to pay a visit ‘at that hole of an old Hall, with that dreadful witch of an old woman,’ as he expressed it to his friends, in the first burst of the opening season, when everything had a special zest, and all was delightful, fresh, and new. Lord Will’s petition to be received so soon again was the first thing which revealed, to the Swinfords at least, that against Lady William there was now no further word to say.

‘Why don’t you come up to town?’ that young gentleman said at dinner, where Mrs. Swinford was not present. ‘What good can it do, Swinford, to bury yourself down here? Why, man alive! it’s not even the country; it’s not much better than a suburban villa. Fine place, I allow, and all that; curious old relic of grandpapa, don’t you know; but grandpapa is such a very recent relation, it is not much worth your while keeping this up.’

‘Thanks for your kindness,’ said Leo; ‘I may say, also, if that is not too much, that, had I not been here, it would, my dear Will, have been less convenient for you.’

‘Ah yes,’ said the young man, ‘less convenient, but much nicer, if the truth must be told; for to come down here a-fortune-hunting, don’t you know, is about the last thing in the world to please me.’

‘Oh, that is it!’ said Leo.

‘That’s it, to be sure,’ said the other. ‘A cousin, too; and it is not such a heavy price to put oneself up for. There’s half-a-dozen little Americans about town, or Australians, or whatever you like to call them, that are much better worth than that, if a man is to make a sacrifice of himself,’ said poor Lord Will.

‘But so long as your brother Pontoon is well and strong, the Americans don’t care much, do they, for a courtesy title?’

‘They’re getting awfully well up,’ confessed the other in a doleful tone, ‘got their peerage at their fingers’ ends, and care nothing for younger brothers, that’s the truth; and I’m sure I don’t want to marry any of them, nor any girl that I know of. I say, Swinford, you don’t know how well off you are, you lucky beggar, to be all there is of your family. I don’t mean to say that I’m not a bore to Pontoon, and all that, having to be provided for somehow—as much as he is to me, standing in my way.’

‘You think it would be a better arrangement having only one son?’

‘One child, that’s what I should recommend; like the French do,’ said this victim of English prejudices. He was not aware that his grammar was bad, and would not have cared had he known. There are some people who are above grammar, just as there are many who are below it. He sighed, and added, as if that was a dreadful fact that needed no comment: ‘There are four girls, and none of them married.’ A second sigh after he had made this announcement was something like a groan.

‘They are almost too young for that, as yet,’ said Leo, with good nature.

‘Too young! This will be Addie’s third season, and not so much as a nibble. If you don’t think that serious, by Jove, I do—and Betty treading on her heels, and the little ones beginning to perk their heads out of the schoolroom. The poor old mother, it’s enough to turn her gray. And when she bids me up and do something for myself, I can’t turn on her, Swinford, I can’t indeed, though it’s hard on a fellow all the same. It ought all to have come to us, it ought indeed—without any encumbrance, the advertisements say.’

‘The encumbrance,’ said Leo, who was half angry and half amused, ‘is not a thing you will find it so easy to reckon with, my poor Will. She has her own ways of thinking, and a will of her own.’

‘Ah!’ said Lord Will, with much calm. He was not afraid, it would appear, of Mab. He thought of the little roundabout thing whom he had seen on his previous visit, not, certainly, with much alarm, but with a sense that if she resisted his advances (which was so very unlikely) he would not be inconsolable. Anyhow, he would have done what duty and his parents required of him. It was very satisfactory to him that Mrs. Swinford did not come downstairs that evening, for the recollection of his last interview with her was not agreeable to him in the present changed circumstances. How he was to explain to her the motif of his conduct now, and how the failure of all her information—her hints and prophecies of evil—was to be got over, did there ever again ensue a tÊte-À-tÊte between the hostess and her visitor, he could not tell. Mrs. Swinford was much more alarming to Lord Will than the little cousin whom he came to woo.

The first assurance received by Lady William that all was well was thus conveyed to her by the second visit of the young man who bore her husband’s name, who came stalking into the cottage alone on the morning after his arrival as if he had been one of the intimates there, and addressed her as Aunt William, to her great surprise and agitation. Not a word did Lord Will say of his uncle’s money or the proceedings of Messrs. Fox and Round. Watcham was so handy for town, was what the young man said. It was so easy to run down for a breath of fresh air: and boxed up in town, as it was his hard fate to be, nobody could think what a pleasure it was to get into the country from time to time.

‘I had no idea that you were such a lover of the country,’ Lady William said.

‘Not the country in the abstract,’ said Lord Will; ‘but a pleasant little place like this within an hour’s ride—with such a pleasant fellow as Swinford always throwing open his doors—a man with really a nice place, and the best chef I’ve met with, out of the very best houses, don’t you know.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Lady William; ‘I should not think of asking you to meet my cook after that.’

‘Oh, delighted,’ said Lord Will. ‘I don’t demand a chef like Swinford’s everywhere; besides, there’s not a dozen of his quality in the world—brought him from Paris with them, don’t you know. Women don’t often care much for what they eat—but when they do——!’

‘Yes,’ said Lady William, with great gravity, ‘when women are bad, as people say, they are worse than men; which is a compliment or not, according as we receive it.’

‘There is nothing bad, my dear aunt, in being particular about what you eat.’

‘Nothing in the world, or I should be a great sinner. We both like nice things, both Mab and I.’

‘Oh,’ said Lord Will—‘but I am not surprised,’ he added—‘not even that my cousin should show so much sense: for when she has had the advantage of being trained by such a mother——’

Lady William burst into a laugh. His compliments pleased her, as showing how complete was her own victory; but he amused her still more.

‘Let us hope that Mab will continue to show that she has profited by that training,’ she said.

‘Oh, ah,’ said Lord Will; ‘now, of course, you will take her to town. My mother, indeed, wanted to know if she could do anything for you about that—look out for a house, or see after rooms, or that sort of thing?’

‘Lady Portcullis is very kind. I am not sure if I shall make any move this year. Mab is only seventeen; there is plenty of time.’

‘That is just what my mother thought,’ said Lord Will.

Lady William could not restrain another laugh. The kindness of Lady Portcullis, and her desire to be useful, were profoundly amusing to her.

‘Your mother is too kind to take my plans into consideration,’ she said.

‘Well, you see, the mother has girls of her own, and knows all the fuss about introducing them and all that. A girl is ever so much more trouble than sons. We are tossed into the world to sink or swim; but there’s all sorts of fuss about invitations and things for them—the right sort of invitations, don’t you know, to meet the right sort of people. My mother’s deeply up in all that. She could give you a great many wrinkles. That’s one reason, I suppose, why women are so pleased when they get their girls off their hands.’

‘Is it the result of your personal observation, my dear Lord Will, that women are so pleased to get their girls, as you say, off their hands?’

‘Oh, Lord, yes,’ cried the Guardsman, with warm conviction; ‘to marry them off in their first season is the very best thing that can happen, especially if there’s money in the case. You get a lot of fellows dangling about that think of nothing else; and the poor things get ticketed, you know, with their values, and if a man thinks he can let himself go at that price——’

‘What a terrible prospect for the girls with money—and their mothers!’

‘So it is. And if a decent fellow turns up beforehand who can take care of the girl, don’t you know——’

‘I see,’ said Lady William. ‘How good you are to come and give me these hints—to be a guide to my ignorance!’

He gave her a doubtful look; but seeing her perfect gravity was encouraged.

‘Well,’ said Lord Will, ‘some people would think it wasn’t my place; but when I see a nice woman like you, Aunt William——’

‘Thank you, Lord Will.’

‘Oh, you need not thank me; it is a pleasure. When I see you just starting out of this nice quiet place upon the world, and think what a horrid wicked deceitful place it is——’

‘My dear Lord Will, you almost make me cry over you in the character of youthful prophet, and myself in that of the inexperienced novice. You are a Daniel come to judgment; but surely you have too bad an opinion of the poor world.’

‘I hope you will think so when you come to try it,’ he said. And then looking up suddenly he was caught by the gleam of fun in Lady William’s eye.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘you are laughing at me and my advice all the time.’

‘I shall not perhaps require to take advantage of it,’ she said evasively, ‘till next year: and one can never tell what wonderful things may happen before that time.’

It was Lord Will’s decision as he went away that his dear aunt was much ‘deeper’ than he had given her credit for being, and that perhaps to be chary of advice might be better on the whole. But he came back in the afternoon, and also next morning before he went away, and was very anxious to be permitted to be of use to the ladies when they came to town—if they should come.

‘I suppose you’ll come up—for the pictures or something,’ he said, ‘or to go to the opera, or that sort of thing?—when a fellow that knows his way about might be of use. Drop me a line, Aunt William. There is nothing I like so much as being of use.’

‘I like a day in town,’ said Mab, who this time was present. ‘Don’t you think, mother, it’s a good idea? There are a number of things I want to see. I should like to go to the Row with somebody who could tell me who everybody was. And if Cousin Will can spare the time——’

‘I shall take care to spare the time, Cousin Mab.’

‘And you can tell me who everybody is?’

‘Oh! I know a few of the swells,’ the young man responded modestly; and an appointment was accordingly made. But in the evening, when they were alone together, Mab made inquiries into the sudden cordiality of her cousin. ‘Why should he have come back again so soon? I am sure you did not wish him to come back: and why should he be so kind? He was not kind like this when he was here before. And you look either as if you were very happy about it, or as if it were a capital joke.’

‘It is a capital joke—as it has turned out, Mab; but I don’t know what it might have been if Lucy Grey, devoured by curiosity, had not gone to my marriage without being asked, as she told us the other day.’

Mab opened her eyes very wide.

‘What could it matter whether Miss Grey was there or not?’

‘I will tell you, Mab—I can’t keep secrets. I was married in a great hurry, and got no—certificates, or things of that sort. The church has been burnt down; the clergyman is dead—accidents which your uncle James thinks have been partly my fault for being married there—and I might have had difficulty in proving my marriage——’

‘Why, mother?’

‘Well, Mab—— Why, because I had no evidence, don’t you see?’

‘You had me,’ said Mab calmly; ‘surely I am evidence. If you had not been married how could you account for me?’

Lady William kept an expression of perfect gravity, though not without some trouble.

‘That is an unquestionable proof, to be sure,’ she said, bending her head; ‘but,’ she added, in a lighter tone, ‘I could not send you by post to show the lawyers, as I could have done a certificate.’

‘A certificate!’ cried Mab, with mild disdain, ‘as if people would ever ask for certificates from you! But that,’ she added, ‘anyhow has nothing to do with Cousin Will. Why should he have come back so soon? and why should he be so kind? and why are we asked to lunch with the Marchioness, and all that? I think there must be more in this than meets the eye.’

‘You know that you have just come into a fortune——’

‘Oh, mother, don’t say it is for that,’ Mab said, in tones of disgust.

‘No, it’s not exactly for that. But perhaps your cousin thinks that he might help you—to spend it, or take care of it——’

‘Oh!’ said Mab. She did not blush, nor was she excited, but a faint movement swept over her round face which indicated that she knew what his visit meant. And not only did she know what it meant, but it gave her a certain satisfaction as clearing up for her a question which had been very puzzling to her little sober brain.

‘Oh,’ she said again, ‘is that what it means?’

‘No one can speak quite certainly on such a subject,’ said Lady William, ‘but I think that is what it means.’

It was some time before Mab spoke again.

‘Is it then,’ she said, ‘a very large fortune, mother?’

‘It is fifty thousand pounds.’

‘And how much does that mean a year?’

Lady William had a woman’s limited understanding of interest, that is, a woman’s view who has never had money to invest. She thought it meant something about five per cent, a little more or a little less, and replied accordingly that it meant a little more than two thousand pounds a year.

‘That’s not so much, is it, for a man like Cousin Will?’ ‘No, it is not so very much——’

‘And a cousin—that would be no fun. If I were to marry a cousin, I think I would much rather have Jim——’

‘Jim!’ cried Lady William, with a start. ‘Not for the world, Mab! an idle young man, with bad habits—you would never be so mad as that!’

‘Everybody is not made exactly alike, mother,’ said Mab gravely. ‘Jim is idle, it is true, and he always will be idle, should all the Rectory people go on at him till doomsday. The more reason that he should be married (if he is ever married) to some one who is very steady, and has money enough to live on, and can keep him straight.’

‘But, Mab,’ her mother said, with a gasp, ‘what reasoning is this? To put a premium on idleness, and save a man from himself.’

‘Well, mother, I’ve heard you say what a pity it was that people were so afraid of responsibility. I am not afraid of it. If I were to marry my cousin—which would be no fun at all, in the first place—I should certainly rather have Cousin Jim, whom I could be of most use to, than Cousin Will.’