“Why so, pray—why so?” demanded the baronet with a lifting of his eyebrows. “To offer to sell his birthright for a mess of pottage—for that is what he here proposes to do.” “Six thousand pounds is a large sum, Page.” “In itself it may perhaps seem so, but what is it in comparison with the reversion of Withington Chase and the other entailed property? Why, it’s not equivalent to one year’s rent-roll! A very foolish young man!” “It is to be presumed that he knows his own business best,” remarked the baronet drily. “Besides, you seem to forget the many hundreds of pounds—nay, I may say thousands—that I have had to disburse at different times by reason of his extravagance.” The lawyer shook his head. “There’s more under the surface, I feel convinced, than either you or I yet know of.” Then, after a pause, during which he seemed lost in thought, he added, “I should not be in the least surprised if a woman were at the bottom of this business.” The baronet was startled. “That is a possibility which did not suggest itself to me,” he said. “It would, indeed, be just like Alec to finish up his career by contracting a low marriage.” Then with a shrug he added: “But he can please himself about that when once the proposition embodied by him in his letter has been duly carried into effect.” “Then you really mean to accept his offer to cut off the entail?” “I do. If I had any hesitation before, your last suggestion would have effectually disposed of it. I am certainly inclined to believe that you have hit upon the real reason which underlies his offer. Well, I am glad he has sufficient sense and good-feeling left to betake himself to a country where there’s not a creature who knows him. In that case a _mésalliance_ on his part will be a matter of very minor consequence. And now let us consider by what means we can most readily lay our hands on six thousand pounds.” A week later Sir Gilbert and Mr. Page set out for Italy. It had never been the baronet’s practice to take his wife into his confidence about matters which, from his point of view, did not concern her, consequently he had kept his own counsel as far as Alec’s letter and its contents were concerned. It would be time enough to tell her after the all-important document should have been signed by which Alec renounced his birthright. He began to regard young Randolph, the present Lady Clare’s eldest son, with very different eyes from those with which he had hitherto looked upon the boy. A few more days and _he_ would be the heir of Withington. The pity of it was that the title could not descend to him as well as the estates. That was a point as to which the law was manifestly to blame.