“The children--what children? There are no children,” said the old lord, thinking of himself only and his own concerns. Then he perceived her meaning with a sudden, quick start, letting her hand drop in his impatience. “What,” he said, “is it John’s children you are bringing up in this ridiculous way? My dear, when John succeeds me he will be quite rich enough to provide for his own children. I have nothing to do with them. If you put the children in my way and in the way of my happiness in my old age, they shall never get a penny from me. I shall leave everything I can away from them. Be sure you will do them harm, and not good by bringing them up between you and me.” “Lord Frogmore--I would not do them harm for anything in the world.” “Well,” he said, with a smile, “you will do them a great deal of harm if you bring them in between us. I remember now what Mrs. John told you. That all I had belonged to them. She is an odious woman.” “Lord Frogmore.” “Don’t say anything more, my dear. She is an odious woman. You have not found it out, because you think everybody as good as yourself. She it is who is the cause of the impudence of her servants as well as of any other wrong things. No, my dear, let Mrs. John and her brats go by. I am an old man, Mary, that is the worst of it. I can’t hope to stand by you very long. Do you think you can like me well enough to give me the best chance of living to be a Methuselah? I’ll live as long as ever I can if you’ll share my life with me, Mary, my dear.” “Oh, Lord Frogmore!” she said. And, as a matter of fact, Mary said very little more. They came to understand each other very thoroughly without many words on her part. When the hour of luncheon arrived it produced no tray carried by the under-housemaid, as was usual, but John, the footman, in his best livery to announce that my lord was served in the dining-room. “You mean Miss Hill is served,” said the old gentleman, sternly. And John humbly begged his lordship’s pardon. Saunders kept out of sight, not trusting himself in Lord Frogmore’s presence. And the way in which Lord Frogmore talked at lunch was soon reported all over the house, and carried an universal shudder. “I shall lose no time in letting my brother know what has been going on,” he said. “And I don’t think you should stay here any longer. Mrs. John would be unhappy if she knew to what you are exposed.” “Oh,” said Mary; “they will be kinder now.” “Kinder! I could not let any lady run such a risk. I suppose they know that you would not say anything as long as you could help it. That is the penalty of being too good.” “They did not think at all,” said Mary. “They supposed I was to be a spy and tell everything. But don’t please take much notice, Lord Frogmore. In another month Mr. Parke and Letitia will be back again.” “You must not remain another night,” said the old gentleman. “Allow me to have the pleasure of taking you home. I cannot consent to your remaining here.”