"It is so sensible, Estelle, that I am disposed to alter my opinion of her; she has more sense and less vanity than I gave her credit for. I am much pleased to hear it. But surely you or some one else told me she was going to be married." "She told me so herself," replied Lady Estelle, "on the day she came here; she was going to marry a gentleman and a poet." "Very improbable," said her grace; "gentlemen do not marry beneath them, as a rule." She did not see the quick, hot flush that for one moment burned her daughter's face. Then Lady Estelle leaned back in her chair, as though the subject had no further interest for her. Suddenly the duke looked up from his paper. "Of all the strange pieces of news I have ever read, this is the strangest," he said. Both ladies glanced at him; the flush dying from the face of Lady Estelle left it unusually pale. "You remember Ulric Studleigh," continued his grace, "that handsome 'ne'er-do-well?'" This question produced a singular result. The duchess looked quickly at her daughter, then dropped her eyes. Lady Estelle started as though she had been touched to the heart by some keen, sharp sword. "What of Ulric Studleigh?" asked her grace, in a curt voice. "You will never believe it, my dear; he is the last man in the world to whom such luck seemed likely to fall. When he was in London, at the time we knew him so well, there were seven lives between himself and the earldom of Linleigh. By a strange chapter of accidents they are all gone. The young Earl of Linleigh died only last week, and now Ulric Studleigh has succeeded; he is Earl of Linleigh, and is expected in England next week. Only think what a change for him!" Lady Estelle had left her seat; she stood against the window, and the face that looked through the glass was so white and wild no one could have recognized it. "It is a great change," said the duchess; "but unless he himself has changed, fortune will not benefit him much." "The greatest fault in him was his poverty," said the duke. "I must confess I knew little else." The proud face of the duchess lighted with scorn. "Did you not? I never liked the Studleigh race myself; 'faithless and debonair'--every one of them, men and women, too, 'faithless and debonair'--fair of face, light of heart, light of word, light of truth. When was a Studleigh either true to a friend or loyal to a love?" Still no word from the silent figure at the window. "I wonder," continued the duke, "if he is married yet?" "It is hardly probable; the Studleighs are proud enough. He would not meet in Indian society any one whom he would care to marry." Then the duke looked thoughtfully at his daughter. Not one line of her white face could be seen. "He will succeed to an enormous fortune," he continued. "I should say the earldom of Linleigh is one of the richest in England. He will be a great match for one of our fair friends." The duchess relaxed some little of her severity.