‘Oh, sh----,’ murmured Lord Will. He could not say ‘shut up’ to the Rector, but a more crestfallen and abashed young man did not exist. He sat with the head of his cane to his lips, but evidently deriving no consolation from it, when Mab, who had taken off her gardening apron and washed her hands, came in. Mab had her curiosities like other girls. She wanted to know what they were all talking of, and what was being done in the room where there were so many interesting people met together. She was by no means sure that it was not her own fate that was being decided. After all that had been said about her father’s family, the sudden appearance of her cousin was too curiously well-timed to be a mere accident, and she could not help fearing that while she was busy over her carnations they might be settling the course of her future life. Mab had no idea that this should be done without her own concurrence, or the utterance of her opinion, and accordingly, after turning it over in her mind for a few minutes, she left her flowers and hurried upstairs to make herself presentable. Such a conjunction as that of her uncle, so rare a visitor, her new unknown cousin, and Leo Swinford, her mother’s counsellor, could not, she thought, have happened for nothing. But when Mab went into the room the first thing she saw was Lord Will--in whom she took a natural interest as resembling herself, and as being a relation, and a new-comer--seated in the middle of the group with a depressed and sullen countenance, his eyes cast down, and his lips resting upon the head of his cane. ‘Mother,’ said Mab, ‘what have you been doing to Lord Will?’ No one had thought of Mab’s appearance at this particular crisis of fate, and the mere sight of her as she opened the door sent a little thrill through the party, who were all aware of troublous circumstances involving Mab, of which she herself was entirely unconscious, and of prospects utterly strange to her, which were opening before her feet. They all turned to look at her as she stood there with the fresh morning air about her, not beautiful, certainly, but honest and fresh as the morning, and so free from all embarrassment, so unaware either of troubles or hopes which could affect her beyond the wholesome round of every day, that even the Rector, the most ignorant of the party, felt something like a conspirator. Mab came forward quite unconscious of breaking into the middle of a strained situation. ‘What,’ she repeated, ‘have you been doing to Lord Will? Has he done anything wrong that you are all round about him, sitting on him like this? I’m glad I’ve come to see fair play.’ ‘My dear,’ said the Rector, who was the only one who could speak, ‘you are quite mistaken. Your cousin is receiving on the contrary all our thanks for bringing some news which will be of the greatest importance to you, I hope, and will make your future more suitable, my child, to your rank.’