No guest at the castle was more popular than Victor Carrington, the surgeon. His accomplishments were of so varied a nature as to make him invaluable in a large party, and he was always ready to devote himself to the amusement of others. Sir Oswald was astonished at the versatility of his nephew's friend. As a linguist, an artist, a musician, Victor alike shone pre-eminent; but in music he was triumphant. Professing only to be an amateur, he exhibited a scientific knowledge, a mechanical proficiency, as rare as they were admirable. "A poor man is obliged to study many arts," he said, carelessly, when Sir Oswald complimented him on his musical powers. "My life has been one of laborious industry; and the cultivation of music has been almost the only relaxation I have allowed myself. I am not, like Lady Eversleigh, a musical genius. I only pretend to be a patient student of the great masters." The baronet was delighted with the musical talents of his guest because they assisted much in the display of Lady Eversleigh's exceptional power. Victor Carrington's brilliant playing set off the magnificent singing of Honoria. With him as her accompanyist, she sang as she could not sing without his aid. Every evening there was an impromptu concert in the long drawing-room; every evening Lady Eversleigh sang to Victor Carrington's accompaniment. One evening, in the summer dusk, when she had been singing even more superbly than usual, Lydia Graham happened to be seated near Sir Oswald, in one of the broad open windows. "Lady Eversleigh is indeed a genius," said Miss Graham, at the close of a superb _bravura_; "but how delightful for her to have that accomplished Mr. Carrington to accompany her--though some people prefer to play their own accompaniments. I do, for instance; but when one has a relative who plays so well, it is, of course, a different thing." "A relative! I don't understand you, my dear Miss Graham." "I mean that it is very nice for Lady Eversleigh to have a cousin who is so accomplished a musician." "A cousin?" "Yes. Mr. Carrington is Lady Eversleigh's cousin--is he not? Or, I beg your pardon, perhaps he is her brother. I don't know your wife's maiden name." "My wife's maiden name was Milford," answered the baronet, with some displeasure in his tone. "And Mr. Carrington is neither her brother nor her cousin; he is no relation whatever to her." "Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Graham. There was a strange significance in that word "indeed"; and after having uttered it, the young lady seemed seized with a sudden sense of embarrassment. Sir Oswald looked at her sharply; but her face was half averted from him, as if she had turned away in confusion. "You seem surprised," he said, haughtily, "and yet I do not see anything surprising in the fact that my wife and Mr. Carrington are not related to each other."