"No! My grandson will be your firstborn. Where's the amazement in that? Two years hence you will be the father of a boy; and that boy I ask of you. Some might almost say I had right of possession, circumstances being what they are; but I am reasonable in my dealings, and just to all men. That boy I ask--nay, I beg. My heart yearns to the unborn lad. I live in the future always, for 'tis both true wisdom and true happiness to look ahead. The present generally proves cursedly disappointing to a sanguine soul. I gave you my daughter and you give me your son--your firstborn son. He will come hither; his name shall be Malherb; he succeeds me and founds the family which my own son would have founded. You catch my sense? 'Tis but a link missed in the chain. I cannot believe that I am asking too great a thing. What say you?" As a man of humour, Mr. Norcot always appreciated his present host. Now he kept a judicial face and laughed out of sight. His eyes were grave and his forehead wrinkled. He thought, of course, of Grace, but he did not mention her. "You are the most original and gifted man it has been my fortune to meet. Even the crushing changes and chances of life leave you quite unperplexed. You evade them in a masterly manner by sheer quickness of perception. It is genius. Positively you do more than deserve success: you command it." "Sleep upon the proposition, Peter, if you find it too great thing to decide instantly." "I see no need. I seldom find myself in a difference of opinion with Maurice Malherb. The phlegm with which I view the advent of this unborn man-child quite surprises me. Your idea is worthy of a big heart. I seem to feel it both just and honourable. These walls must not fall into alien hands when your work is done. That a son of mine should face the world as a Malherb and follow his grandfather's footsteps--what a privilege! To be honest, I have never much desired children, though doubtless the bachelor's heart expands when he is married, and the usual result follows. But now the case is altered. Tut, tut! "'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot'; and also how to ride, and to fish, and to be a gentleman. By 'young idea' I mean my son--your son. Yes, your son--to grow as you would have him grow, in the traditions of the Malherbs." "Upon my soul, you might have been my son yourself!" said Malherb with stern exultation; "for you're the most level-headed man that ever I met."