“Of course. I will be good to any one belonging to you,” she answered. Then, suddenly getting out of the hammock, with a great display of orange silk petticoat, and standing before him, she added, “But I feel confident it is some mistake. And if not, do think of the feelings of Dudley Deverill, brought up to be your heir.” “Well, he will have the title and a good share of the property. But we are travelling a little too fast. I must first go over to Glenveigh. I might have kept my own counsel till I returned; but I thought you’d like to know.” “_Like_ to know!” she repeated, under her breath. “Pray don’t let it go any further. I’ve not told even Elgitha. Say I’m called away on urgent business.” “And the word ‘business,’ like charity, covers a multitude of sins and secrets!” Lady Mulgrave looked at her husband with an odd smile; but he was grave--he was even agitated. She could read the signs. He had been besotted about his first wife, so people declared, though it seemed incredible, for he was always so cool, self-possessed, and undemonstrative. Was he going to be as idiotic with respect to his daughter? But of course half the evils in the world are those which never happen. No doubt this creature was a myth. “At least it will be an adventure,” she exclaimed. “And think of the scare lines in the morning papers: ‘Long-lost heiress discovered in Irish cabin.’ ‘Peasant girl, aged twenty, a peer’s daughter.’” “Well, Charlotte, if any unexpected good luck had fallen to _you_, I think I’d not have jeered and laughed.” “Dear old Owen!”--and she patted his arm--“did I jeer and laugh? I beg your pardon, but the idea is so grotesque I cannot get to face it, and it all seems so _funny_. You know I’ve an extraordinary sense of humour; it bubbles up in spite of me, like a kettle on the boil! In my mind’s eye, when I see you so tall, erect, and dignified, with a wild and tattered Irish colleen hanging to your arm, I really cannot feel serious; but you know very well, dear, that my heart is in the right place! I suppose”--and she paused and looked up in his face--“you would not like me to go with you?” This was, as she was well aware, a perfectly safe offer. “No, no, I must be off. No time to lose. Pray do not mention the matter to a soul. I’ll write and wire. Good-bye”; and despite her protestations that she would come with him and help him to pack, he waved her a denial and a valediction. As she heard the garden gate click her ladyship scrambled once more into the hammock, lit a cigarette, and abandoned herself to contemplation. No, no; if it really came to anything, if the story were true, if this journey provided her with a stepdaughter, it would be too detestable. How she would hate the commotion, the gossip, and--the _girl_! CHAPTER XIV