“Did he say so? And John always tells me that the Squire was such a kind, good man--the kindest and best he ever knew.” “Yes, he was all that, but I fancy he was cold too; some people, you know, become cold--from disappointment, I suppose, or something--as they grow old. But about old Duberly’s money there’s a good deal to be said. You see,” he added, anxious to preserve the character for disinterestedness which he was conscious of not deserving, “that there is a likelihood of a title (that of Baron de Vavasour), which has been in my father’s branch of the family since the Wars of the Roses, being disputed after the death of a very old relation, who now bears the honours. My father was very anxious that I should some day be a peer of the realm--why, I never could understand; and as my mother does not trouble herself much about my advancement in life, I shall have to look out for myself.” “And why? I am very stupid and ignorant about such matters, or I daresay I should guess.” “I don’t know why you should, and I’m afraid I’m boring you all this time; but the fact is that in this enlightened country of ours enormous wealth--and the two fortunes united would be what is called colossal--can almost command a peerage. But there is a better reason than the one I have just been telling you of for my marrying an heiress--a reason which anyone connected with old Duberly might be proud of. They say he might be made a peer any day he liked, _only_ from his high-mindedness, his wonderful liberality to the poor, and the excellent use he makes of an income of eighty thousand a year. A wonderful lot of money, isn’t it?” he continued, as he and Honor sauntered on towards the high holly-hedge which bounded the garden on the east side, and was ever a pleasant shelter from both wind and sun. He did not expect to be answered--there could be no two opinions regarding the marvellous proportions of Mr. Duberly’s income; and indeed, his thoughts as well as Honor’s had wandered far enough away both from ambitious hopes and peers expectant. “What a bore this going away is!” Arthur said after a pause; “I’m a wonderful fellow to get fond of a place. Do you get fond of a place? I mean a place one lives much in, you know.” “I think it depends very much upon the people we are with,” Honor said, and the next moment regretted her thoughtless words; for Arthur said eagerly: “Exactly! just my feeling. It is not the ‘where,’ but the ‘who.’ I should never have grown so fond of the Paddocks if--but you are not going in, Mrs. Beacham? Do take one more turn--only one. It is such a beautiful evening, and the old lady cannot be so unreasonable as to expect you will waste it in the house. Hark! there is the first note of the nightingale. Won’t you stay and listen to it for the last time with me?”