"Well! She is the same ungovernable termagant as ever--conceited little puss! But she always amuses me--that's one consolation!" He laughed, and taking out his cigar-case, opened it. "Will you have one?" Longford accepted the favour. "Who is this old fellow, Pippitt?" he asked--"Any relation of the dead and gone Badsworth? How does he get Badsworth Hall? Doesn't he grind bones to make his bread, or something of that kind?" Longford explained with civil obsequiousness that Sir Morton Pippitt had certainly once 'ground bones,' but that he had 'retired' from such active service, while still retaining the largest share in the bone business. That he had bought Badsworth Hall as it stood,-- pictures, books, furniture and all, for what was to him a mere trifle; and that he was now assuming to himself by lawful purchase, the glory of the whole deceased Badsworth family. Lord Roxmouth shrugged his shoulders in contempt. "Such will be the fate of Roxmouth Castle!" he said--"Some grinder of bones or maker of beer will purchase it, and perhaps point out the picture of the founder of the house as being that of a former pot-boy!" "The old order changeth,"--said Longford, with a chill smile--"And I suppose we should learn to accustom ourselves to it. But you, with your position and good looks, should be able to prevent any such possibility as you suggest. Miss Vancourt is not the only woman in the world." "By no means,"--and Roxmouth strolled into the garden, Longford walking beside him--"But she is the only woman I at present know, who, if she obeys her aunt's wishes, will have a fortune of several millions. And just because such a little devil SHOULD be mastered and MUST be mastered, I have resolved to master her. That's all!" "And, to your mind, sufficient,"--said Longford--"But if it is a question of the millions chiefly, there is always the aunt herself." Roxmouth stared--then laughed. "The aunt!" he ejaculated--"The aunt?" "Why not?" And Longford stole a furtive look round at the man who was his chief literary patron--"The aunt is handsome, well- preserved, not more than forty-five at most--and I should say she is a woman who could be easily led--through vanity." "The aunt!" again murmured Roxmouth--"My dear Longford! What an appalling suggestion! Mrs. Fred as the Duchess of Ormistoune! Forbid it, Heaven!" Then suddenly he laughed aloud. "By Jove! It would be too utterly ridiculous! Whatever made you think of such a thing?" "Only the prospect you yourself suggested,"--replied Longford--"That of seeing a brewer or a bone-melter in possession of Roxmouth Castle. Surely even Mrs. Fred would be preferable to that!" With an impatient exclamation Roxmouth suddenly changed the subject; but Longford was satisfied that he had sown a seed, which might,-- time and circumstances permitting,--sprout and grow into a tangible weed or flower.