‘But that is so easily remedied,’ said the lawyer. ‘Marry--marry, my dear sir! and you will no longer be the last of your family, and will very soon learn to appreciate an entailed estate. By----!’ cried Mr. Loseby, rubbing his hands. He would not say ‘By Jove!’ or even ‘By George!’ or anything of the sort, which would have been unbecoming his years and dignity; but when things were too many for him, he swore ‘By----!’ and was refreshed. ‘I could tell you a thing to do,’ cried the lawyer, with a chuckle, ‘that would save the family from a great deal of trouble. What do you think that obstinate--I beg your pardon, Mr. Heathcote, he and I are old friends, we say what we please to each other?--what do you suppose he has been doing here?--trying to force me, against all the teachings of reason, to alter his will--to cut off that fine girl, that delightful creature, Anne.’ ‘Mr. Loseby, I don’t suppose this is a thing which I am intended to know.’ ‘You will know, sooner or later, if he carries it out,’ cried the lawyer; ‘but you are right, I have no business to betray my client’s affairs. But, look here now,’ he said, bending across the table, leaning on both his elbows to look insinuatingly, coaxingly in Heathcote’s face, ‘look here now! I never saw you before, Mr. Heathcote, but your name is as familiar to me as my a, b, c, and I am a very old family friend, as I may say, as well as their man of business. Look here now. You are a very personable man, and not a bit too old for her, and a most suitable match in every way. Why shouldn’t you make up to Anne? Hear me out, and don’t flare up. Bless you, I am not a stranger, nor a mere impudent country attorney, as perhaps you are thinking. I knew them all before they were born. Anne is perhaps a little serious, you will think, a little highfaluting. But nobody knows till they _do_ know her what a fine creature she is. Anne Mountford is a wife for a king. And here she’s got entangled with some fellow whom nobody knows, and Mountford of course refuses his consent. But she is not the girl to be bullied or treated with severity. Why couldn’t you go in now and try for Anne? You are not to be supposed to know anything about it; it would all be innocence in you; and who knows that she mightn’t be glad of the chance of slipping out of the other, though she won’t give in to threats. Won’t you think of it? Won’t you think of it? I don’t know the man, if he were a prince, that might not be proud of Anne.’ All this Heathcote listened to with very strange sensations. He was angry, amused, touched by the enthusiasm of the little round shining man who thus entreated him, with every kind of eloquence he was capable of, his eyes and hands and his whole frame twisting into gestures of persuasion. Heathcote was disposed to laugh, but he was still more disposed to resent this familiar employment of his cousin’s name.