“One did not suppose his constitution would have lasted so long,” she answered. “You are more fortunate in young Donal Muir. Have you seen him and his mother?” “I made a special journey to Braemarnie and had a curious interview with Mrs. Muir. When I say ‘curious’ I don’t mean to imply that it was not entirely dignified. It was curious only because I realize that secretly she regards with horror and dread the fact that her boy is the prospective Head of the House of Coombe. She does not make a jest of it as I have had the temerity to do. It’s a cheap defense, this trick of making an eternal jest of things, but it _is_ a defense and one has formed the habit.” “She has never done it—Helen Muir,” his friend said. “On the whole I believe she at times knows that she has been too grave. She was a beautiful creature passionately in love with her husband. When such a husband is taken away from such a woman and his child is left it often happens that the flood of her love is turned into one current and that it is almost overwhelming. She is too sane to have coddled the boy and made him effeminate—what has she done instead?” “He is a splendid young Highlander. He would be too good-looking if he were not as strong and active as a young stag. All she has done is to so fill him with the power and sense of her charm that he has not seen enough of the world or learned to care for it. She is the one woman on earth for him and life with her at Braemarnie is all he asks for.” “Your difficulty will be that she will not be willing to trust him to your instructions.” “I have not as much personal vanity as I may seem to have,” Coombe said. “I put all egotism modestly aside when I talked to her and tried to explain that I would endeavour to see that he came to no harm in my society. My heir presumptive and I must see something of each other and he must become intimate with the prospect of his responsibilities. More will be demanded of the next Marquis of Coombe than has been demanded of me. And it will be _demanded_ not merely hoped for or expected. And it will be the overwhelming forces of Fate which will demand it—not mere tenants or constituents or the general public.” “Have you any views as to _what_ will be demanded?” was her interested question. “None. Neither has anyone else who shares my opinion. No one will have any until the readjustment comes. But before the readjustment there will be the pouring forth of blood—the blood of magnificent lads like Donal Muir—perhaps his own blood,—my God!” “And there may be left no head of the house of Coombe,” from the Duchess. “There will be many a house left without its head—houses great and small. And if the peril of it were more generally foreseen at this date it would be less perilous than it is.” “Lads like that!” said the old Duchess bitterly. “Lads in their strength and joy and bloom! It is hideous.”