For some time after Miss Plympton's departure Sir Lionel remained buried in thought. At length he rang the bell. A servant appeared. “Is Captain Dudleigh here yet?” asked Sir Lionel. “Yes, Sir Lionel.” “Tell him that I want to see him.” The servant departed, and in a short time the door opened and a young man entered. He was tall, muscular, well-formed, and with sufficient resemblance to Sir Lionel to indicate that he was his son. For some time Sir Lionel took no notice of him, and Captain Dudleigh, throwing himself in a lounging attitude upon a chair, leaned his head back, and stared at the ceiling. At length he grew tired of this, and sitting erect, he looked at Sir Lionel, who was leaning forward, with his elbow on the arm of his chair, supporting his head in his hand, and evidently quite oblivious of the presence of any one. “Did you wish to see me, Sir?” said Captain Dudleigh at length. Sir Lionel started and raised his head. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Is that you, Leon? I believe I must have been asleep. Have you been waiting long? Why didn't you wake me? I sent for you, didn't I? Oh yes. Let me see. It is a business of the greatest importance, and I'm deuced glad that you are here, for any delay would be bad for all concerned.” Sir Lionel paused for a few moments, and then began: “You know about that--that melancholy story of--of poor Dalton.” Leon nodded. “Did you hear that he is dead?” “Well, some paragraphs have been going the rounds of the papers to that effect, though why they should drag the poor devil from his seclusion, even to announce his death, is somewhat strange to me.” “Well, he is dead, poor Dalton!” said Sir Lionel, “and--and so there's an end of him and that melancholy business. By-the-way, I suppose you haven't heard any particulars as to his death?” “No,” said Leon, “nothing beyond the bare fact. Besides, what does it matter? When a man's dead, under such circumstances, too, no one cares whether he died of fever or gunshot.” “True,” said Sir Lionel, with a sigh. “It isn't likely that any one would trouble himself to find out how poor Dalton died. Well, that is the first thing that I had to mention. And now there is another thing. You know, of course, that he left a daughter, who has been growing up all these years, and is now of age. She has been living under the care of a Miss Plympton, from whom I had the pleasure of a call this morning, and who appears to be a remarkably sensible and right-minded person.” “A daughter?” said Leon. “Oh yes! Of course I remember. And of age! Well, I never thought of that. Why, she must be heiress to the immense Dalton property. Of age, and still at school! What's her name? I really forget it, and it's odd too, for, after all, she's my own cousin, in spite of the short-comings of her father and--and other people.”