“My dear,” he said, “you are the only person to decide such a matter. Nobody ever understands a girl like her mother. You were anxious about her music, and that she should learn something. To me it seems a wonderful chance, but it is you who must be the judge. Hetty,” he said, turning to his brother clergyman with a smile, “is part of herself.” “I can well imagine that; one can see what she is; that is why I came here at once, for if it does not shock you to think of a separation at all, it _is_ a wonderful chance. I never heard in my experience of anything better. The little girl is only ten, but very forward for her age; and Miss Hetty is so used to children.” “And to get all we want for her, and be paid into the bargain;” cried Mary, with a nervous laugh. “We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Rossmore. I am sure Hetty will not hesitate for a moment; and neither do I.” “And where is this wonderful child?” said Mr. Asquith, “and why is she in want of a companion? and where does she live?” “I don’t know the whole story. My brother is in the law. All sorts of romances seem to come into his hands. So far as I can make out, both parents are living, the father mad, shut up in a lunatic asylum; the mother, who has all the money, is abroad. I fancy she’s an American, smitten with the love of an old family and an old house.” “It is an old family, then, and an old house.” “They say, one of the most perfect specimens of an old English house, a long way off, though--in Redcornshire--a place called Horton.” Mary uttered a cry. She had thought somehow, she could not tell how, that this name was coming. Mr. Asquith, too, cried, “Horton!” with the wildest amazement, for no presentiment had visited his breast. “You know the place?” their visitor said. Mary gave her husband a warning look. “We knew it very well in our youth, oh, very well. It is startling to hear of it so suddenly. And what is the name of the people who are there now? It is long, long since I have heard.” “Their name is Rotherham,” said Mr. Rossmore.