“Ferdinand is the skeleton in the Montellas’ cupboard,” she began, giving her daughter time to digest the statement. “His mother died when he was born, and until his father married again he was brought up by a relation of the Selim Montellas. He was expelled from Eton, and ran away from boarding-school, and was the sort of little monster who would never be able to abstain from wickedness outside a reformatory. When he was about eighteen, he did something shady—I don’t quite know what it was, for the matter was hushed up, but I believe he tried to embezzle, or something of the sort. Anyway, Sir Julian disinherited him, cut him out of his will, and sent him off to Australia with just enough money to pay his passage. Since then, the name of Ferdinand has been tabooed by the Montella family, which, I suppose, accounts for your ignorance of the matter.” Raie’s eyes were wide open. “Do they never hear from him?” she asked. “I don’t know; but I heard that Sir Julian once received a letter from him, and returned it unopened. You ought to know whether they receive letters from Australia or not.” “I never trouble myself about the Montellas’ correspondence; they receive letters from all kinds of places. Besides, Ferdinand may have left Australia. How long ago did it all happen?” Mrs. Emanuel thought a moment. “Let me see,” she replied musingly. “It was just after Pearl was born. I remember quite well, because Lady Montella paid me a visit, and I was wearing a pale-blue dressing-gown trimmed with Irish lace. It was the first day I sat up in my room. It must be about eleven years ago. Ferdinand—if he is still alive—will be about thirty.” “So old?” To Raie thirty seemed like middle age. “What a strange story; it quite fascinates me, and”—there was a touch of excitement in her voice—“why, if there is an elder son, Lionel will not succeed to the title and estate.” “To the estates, yes; to the title, no. Sir Julian cannot will away the baronetcy, much as he might like to do so. Lionel will never be a baronet unless his step-brother dies.” “Poor Lal! But I do not think he has much craving for a title; he is not that kind of man. I wonder why Lady Montella has never mentioned her step-son to me?”