Perhaps the most unwelcome minor item in the affair to Lord Acorn was having to carry the news home to his wife. It was evening when he arrived there. He and Mr. Grubb had travelled up together: for the easy-natured peer did not intend to show the cold shoulder to his son-in-law because he had supplanted him. "Will you give me a bit of dinner, Frank?" asked the earl, as they got into a cab together at the terminus, only too willing to put off the mauvais quart d'heure with my lady as long as might be. "I will give it to you, and welcome, if there is any to be had," smiled Mr. Grubb. "I left no orders for dinner today, not knowing when I should be back." Alighting in Grosvenor Square, they found dinner prepared. Afterwards Lord Acorn went home. His wife, attired in one of Madame Damereau's best black silk gowns, garnished with a crape apron, was sitting in the small drawing-room, all impatience. "Well, you _are_ late," cried she. "What can have kept you until now?" "It is only ten o'clock," replied the earl, drawing a chair to the fire. "At work, Gracie!" he added, turning to his daughter, who sat at the table, busy with her tatting. "Only ten o'clock!" snapped the countess. "I expected you at five or six. And now--how are things left? I suppose we have Court Netherleigh?" "Well, no; we have not," quietly replied Lord Acorn. "_Not!_" "Not at all. Grubb is made the heir. He has Court Netherleigh--and is to take the name." Lady Acorn's face, in its petrified astonishment, its righteous indignation, would have made a model for a painter. Not for a couple of minutes did she speak, voice and words alike failed her. "The deceitful wretch!" broke from her at length. "To play the sneak with Margery in that way!" "Don't waste your words, Betsy. Grubb knew nothing about it: is more surprised than you are. Court Netherleigh was willed to him when Margery first came into it; when he was a young lad. She only carried out the directions of Sir Francis Netherleigh." Lady Acorn was beginning to breathe again. But she was not the less angry. "I don't care. It is no better than a swindle. How _deceitful_ Margery must have been!" "She kept counsel--if you mean that. As to being deceitful--no, I don't see it. She never did, or would, admit that the estate would come to us: discouraged the idea, in fact." "All the same, it is a frightful blow. We were _reckoning_ on it. Was no one in her confidence?" "No one whatever except the old lawyer, Pencot. Two or three weeks before she died she disclosed all to Cleveland in a confidential interview. As it is not ourselves, I am heartily glad it's Grubb." "What has she done with all her accumulated money?" tartly went on her ladyship. "She must have saved a heap of it, living in the quiet way she did!" "Yes, there is a pretty good lot of that," equably replied the earl. "It is left to one and another; legacies here, legacies there. I don't come in for one." "No! What a shame!"