"Don't be a fool, Tom," she replied curtly, coming to sit beside him. "You know quite well what I mean. Young men of that sort always are in debt; besides, I've heard the old man say something about money for a majority. Now the estate's entailed, so payments of that sort must come out of what I mean to be mine--and I won't have it!" "Sound common sense, Fan," said her companion, yawning; "but you are always in such a hurry to begin. Wait a few days and see how the land lies first. You've always the best of weapons in your hand." "What's that?" "Jealousy. The old man is as jealous as old boots. Once make him fancy young Marmaduke is sweet on you, and he goes to the right-about." Fantine sat back and laughed. "You are always so comforting, Tom." He rose and put down his paper. "Always ready to help, my dear; but you remember our compact--half shares when the old man dies." "He'll be good for another ten years if I marry him," she called after her late companion, as he strolled out of the room. Then she sat down and faced facts. In truth she was getting tired of her _rôle_ of _première danseuse_ at a London theatre. Perhaps, she even admitted, she was a trifle too old for the agile cutting of capers. She felt vaguely that she would like to draw in her horns and let her waist out, and she was quite ready to take Lord Drummuir as a means of satisfying both ambitions. In her way she was neither bad nor unkind, simply egotistic to a degree. In this last episode of an eventful career which seldom outlasts the age of forty, she had deliberately played for semi-respectability, and had only come down to stay at Drummuir Castle under the wing of an impeccable _duenna_. Not that the fact had in the least imposed on the old lord. He was shrewd enough to know Miss Fanny Biggs, or, as she chose to style herself, Mdlle. Fantine Le Grand, down to the ground. But it was something to have someone to dance for him (as she did to distraction), when he had a fit of the gout and look quite deucedly pretty at all times. So the bargain was made. A title in exchange for amusements. But Fantine Le Grand looked beyond the old man's life; she looked for comfortable widowhood. So she wandered again to the window and watched the family trio on the lawn. It was far too filial for her tastes. Tom Compton, so-called Colonel of Irregulars, one of her oldest friends, had been right. Jealousy would be a good card to play. And then she laughed suddenly at the recollection of Marmaduke's filial salute. He was better-looking than his father must have been at his age, but, according to the latter, he was "a chip of the old block." So he would be easy prey.