Gwen, in spite of her inward tumult, remembered that this boast was rather “tall,” that the Beauvais family had, in fact, been changed radically several times, and only the name had been undisturbed. Her mind paused with a certain satisfaction on these little genealogical discrepancies, because, though she was the sister and the daughter of a duke, she was the granddaughter of a brewer, who had begun life as an apprentice. “George wishes Arthur to go over to the wedding,” she said reluctantly, after a silence. [Illustration: _A strongly-built, fairish young man of perhaps six and thirty_] A servant appeared--his gaudy livery was almost shabby, but his manners were most dignified, and his hair was impressively--or ridiculously, if you please--plastered and streaked with powder. “His Lordship says he will have tea in his study, Your Ladyship.” “Please tell him that Lady Gwendoline Ridley is here,” said Evelyn. A few minutes later, a strongly-built, fairish young man of perhaps six and thirty came lounging out upon the porch. He had pleasing, but far from handsome, features--a chin that was too long, and hung weakly, instead of strongly, forward; uncertain blue eyes, with a network of the wrinkles of dissipation at the corners. A large, frameless, stringless monocle was wedged, apparently permanently, into the angle of his right eye-socket. He was dressed in shabby light grey flannels, and he looked as seedy as his clothes. He shook hands with Gwen. “Thanks. No tea. I’m taking whiskey,” he said to Evelyn. And he seated himself sprawlingly. The servant brought his whiskey and a note for his sister. “Is the man waiting for an answer?” she asked, when she had read it. “Yes, your ladyship.” She left her brother and Gwen alone. “George is marrying the heiress,” Gwen began. “So he wrote me,” replied Frothingham sullenly. “Evelyn says you must go and do likewise.” He scowled. “But I’d rather stay here and marry you.” “Don’t be silly,” said Gwen, with a shrug of her athletic young shoulders. “You’ve got nothing. I’ve got nothing. So--you must do your duty.” “Duty go hang!” said Frothingham fretfully. “Sometimes, do you know, Gwen, I come jolly near envying those beggars that live in cottages, and keep shops, and all that.” “Now, you’re slopping, Arthur. You know you don’t envy them; no more do I.” “Did Eve tell you old Bagley was down?” “Yes. Ghastly--wasn’t it?” Frothingham sighed. “I shouldn’t be so cut up if I’d had the fun of spending it.” “You did spend a lot of it.” She was thinking what a great figure the young Earl had cut in her girlhood days; she had always listened greedily when her brother, with admiring envy, or Evelyn, with sisterly pride, talked of his exploits on the turf, and let us say elsewhere, to shorten a long story.