“Ashelton!” Kit exclaimed. “Do you know Ashelton?” “Yes,” and then Bill remembered, and the mutual acquaintance with Ashelton and the surrounding district, which seemed so very delightful to her companion, wore quite another aspect to her. “I had almost forgotten,” she went on; “I mean, forgotten what I had come to say; but I must tell you, I will tell you about it.” And forgetting the poets and the seductive calling of the sea she told him all,--of the Australian and his claim, of its strength, and of his decision to be silent until after old Mr. Harborough’s death; she told him exactly how it stood, and how she thought it unfair he should not know what threatened him. He listened quietly as she talked, coldly, unconsciously demonstrating to her one good gift that an old family bestows upon its children, the power to receive a blow unmoved, to hear with the silence of pride and to speak with the indifference of studied self-control. Kit Harborough had not much for which to thank his ancestors; the dead hand of the past was heavy upon him and the weight of tradition but little in his favour; nevertheless his birth and breeding helped him to receive Bill’s blow with a proud composure, almost an indifference which roused her deepest admiration, though at the same time it touched her curiously. She talked on fast to hide her own feelings. “They seem to think,” she said, though she had said it before and the whole case was painfully clear now, “they seem to think that if Mr. Harborough is left to himself he will not make a will; I don’t know why.” “Because he does not like me,” Kit told her. “He wishes me to have the property simply on account of the name. I am called Harborough because of the property, and I am,--was to have had it because of the name; but he wishes it so little that since he is sure I should have it, he would not set it down.” “But if he knew of Theo--of the other one?” “He still would not make a will, or if he did it would not be in my favour; the other man is a Harborough and so fulfils his only condition. I have told you he dislikes me.” “He would dislike Theo a good deal more if he knew him,” Bill said warmly; “he is going to cut down the wood if he gets the estate, and plough the land, and grow turnips in the park.” “I don’t think you could make my uncle believe that.” Kit’s composure belied his feelings. “And if one could, if one could induce him to make a will, I don’t believe I should care to do it, and, besides, you know, it might not make much difference after all. Thank you, thank you very much for telling me,”--the composure was not nearly so marked; stoicism is not perfect at two-and-twenty; “it was very good of you to do it. I’m glad to know; it’s much easier when one knows what’s coming, but I can’t exactly take advantage of it; you didn’t really mean me to, you know.”