When Ralph gave vent to the great roar of a laugh which seemed to make a sort of storm in the air above the heads at once of Lord Frogmore and of little Marmaduke, there was more than merriment in that outburst. The bushman felt the distinction which the little boy had made, though it was only a very little boy that had made it. He assumed an additional swagger in consequence. “I’m on the other side, my lord,” he said, “for I presume you’re Lord Frogmore. I’m Ralph Ravelstone, the brother of the missus--but we’re on different tacks, you and me. She aint at all proud of her brother, I’m sorry to say, though I want nothing from them--not a brass farthing. So I’m clearing out of the way.” “Ah!” said Lord Frogmore. He added after a moment, “You will not, of course, expect me to interfere--people know their own concerns best.” “Interfere!” said Ralph. “I never thought of that. Tisch knows her own mind, and there’s nobody I ever heard of could make her change it. Oh, I’m going. It’s not good enough to hang on here in a bit of a country place like this, for anything I’ll get from Tisch. Besides I want nothing from them. I’ve just come from the bush with dollars enough once in a way. I came out of kindness. If she don’t want me I can do without her, and that’s all I’ve got to say.” To this Lord Frogmore made no reply, save by bowing his head politely, as to a conclusion of which he might approve indeed, but which left nothing to be said. But Ralph stood swaying his big person about, not knowing how to get himself off the scene--and indeed with a sentiment of elation in the unexpected and unaccustomed felicity of talking to a lord. “You see, my lord,” he said, “through her,” and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “we are a kind of connections, you and me.” “Oh!” said Lord Frogmore, gravely, “We are--a kind of connections?” “Yes,” said Ralph. “I’m very glad to make your acquaintance. This little beggar here is nephew to us both. It’s droll if you think of it,” added Ralph, stopping to laugh, “that he should be nephew to you--and also to me.” “Perhaps it is a little--droll as you say,” said Lord Frogmore. Fortunately he did not think it was his own age that Ralph referred to. He thought it was indeed a wonderful thing that he and this wild bushranger, or whoever he was, should stand in the same relationship to anyone. At this moment the footman appeared at the hall door, with a look of intelligence addressed to Ralph. The bushman started and changed into a tone of almost ostentatious hospitality. “My lunch is ready,” he said, “there’s sure to be enough for two. I hope, my lord, you’ll come and have a share.”