“Dear me, no! Beyond her French and German masters, and the old vicar of Grayling, and myself, she has hardly had any acquaintance with the other sex. A more absolutely fancy-free young lady, I should say, never existed. But she has so much charm and individuality, as well as beauty, that when once she enters into social life in London, under the judicious guardianship of her grandmother, the Duchess of Lanark, there is not much doubt that suitors will not long be lacking. Although I understand that the Chase is in strict entail to the heirs male of the Cranstoun family, as well as the Scotch property, Sir Philip’s daughter will no doubt be some day possessed of a very comfortable little income, which in these extravagant, money-loving days,” added the doctor, smiling, as he took a cup of coffee which a servant brought into the room at that moment on a silver salver, “is a thing which is supposed to enhance any young lady’s attraction.” Lord Carthew said nothing, and remained for a short time plunged in thought. Not only had he fallen in love at first sight, but his instinct had happily guided his affections to exactly the right object. In spite of his thin veneer of almost revolutionary theories, Lord Northborough’s heir was at heart a Tory and an aristocrat, and Sir Philip’s daughter was a thousand times the more desirable in his eyes because she was a Cranstoun on her father’s side, and granddaughter to the Duke of Lanark. Had he experienced the same overmastering feeling of instantaneous love for a lowly-born girl, he would certainly have regretted it, and would possibly have done his best to conquer it. But in this case no such self-restraint was necessary. If only he could gain her affection, above all in the homely guise of Mr. Pritchard, son to a Yorkshire yeoman, perfect married happiness awaited him. Dr. Morland Graham, leaning back in his chair, smoking, and enjoying an after-dinner mood of benevolent calm, watched his companion with some amusement, and wondered for what freak Lord Northborough’s son and heir, bearing a strong resemblance to his father and sporting on his finger a signet-ring upon which his family crest was plainly discernible as he held his cigar to his lips, was wandering about the county under the alias of Pritchard. Dr. Morland Graham liked to be on good terms with his aristocratic patients; he liked to know their little secrets, and they, being only mortal, were usually ready enough to confide them to “that dear kind, sympathetic Dr. Graham.” He knew quite well that the Earl and his wife were extremely anxious to see their only son, the “mad viscount,” married and settled, and it occurred to the worthy doctor that this might be an excellent opportunity for ameliorating the lot of Stella Cranstoun, who, once under the protecting care of a husband of wealth and position, would be free forever from the petty tyranny of her absolutely detestable father.