Although the cousins had seldom met before, they had heard of each other, forming their respective estimates from their special standpoints--St. George heartily despising Ralph, as a mere stupid, honest, pig-headed soldier, whose luck in coming somewhat to the front was a disgrace even to the whims of that feminine deity, Fortune. How such rapid promotion could be brought about without finesse, without tact, without anything more extraordinary than simple duty doing, was beyond the peculiar construction of St. George's mind to conceive. While Ralph scarcely bestowed any consideration whatever on his kinsman--he had heard of him as a clever, rising man, and also as a "keen hand;" but now he had acquired a sudden importance; and Ralph, as he gazed at the bland countenance opposite, and traced the hard lines under its set expression, laughed inwardly at the notion of extracting any information which St. George was disinclined to give. Nevertheless, when they joined the ladies, Wilton approached his cousin, and opened the conversation by inquiring for a mutual acquaintance, one of St. George's brother _attachés_; this naturally led to other topics, and their talk flowed easily enough. "I am told you were received by our eccentric relative, Lord St. George," said his namesake, at last; "rather an unusual event for him to see any one, I believe?" "Yes; he sent for me, or I should never have thought of presenting myself. He looks very old and worn--and not particularly amiable." "Well, he has had enough to sour him. How did he receive you?" "With tolerable civility." "He would not let me in! I wonder what he will do with all his property. If he dies intestate, I suppose you will inherit everything?" "I suppose so; but I strongly suspect he will not leave me a _sou_. I am not pliant enough; and that unfortunate daughter of his may have left children to inherit, after all. I fancy I heard she was dead." "So have I," said St. George. "Who did she marry?" "I believe a Spaniard--an adventurer, with fine eyes and a splendid voice; I forget the name. Old Colonel du Cane, who was about town in those days, remembers the affair and the scandal, but the whole thing is forgotten now. I wonder old St. George did not marry and cut out every one." "Unless he makes a very distinct will, you will have to spend a large slice of your fortune in defeating the pretenders who are sure to spring up." "Or you will," returned Wilton, laughing; "for he is as likely to leave it to one as the other, or to some charity." "To some charity? That is surely the last of improbabilities." "It is impossible to say," returned Wilton; and there was a short pause, during which he revolved rapidly in his own mind how he could best approach the topic uppermost in his mind. "How long do you stay at Brosedale?" he resumed abruptly, as St. George looked round, as if about to move away.