“Did you?” exclaimed Mrs. Braxfield, a little contemptuously. “No doubt you would—from Valencia Markenmore! But they have me to reckon with, Mr. Fransemmery, and I intend that my daughter, Lady Markenmore, shall occupy her rightful position tomorrow! She’ll get home here tonight from London, where she’s been staying with friends—I expect her from Selcaster station about eleven o’clock. She’s coming by the last train, and tomorrow morning she’ll assume her proper place at Markenmore Court. As to whether she attends the funeral ceremonies of Sir Anthony and Mr. Guy she and her husband, Sir Harry, can decide; I’m nothing to do with that, Mr. Fransemmery. What I have to do with is making sure that my daughter, now that she is Lady Markenmore, is in her proper position as mistress of Markenmore Court when its late master is carried out for burial!” Mr. Fransemmery made no immediate reply. He was conscious now that the ground had been cut from under his feet; there was no chance of fulfilling his promise to Valencia. Evidently, the new Lady Markenmore’s mother had assumed responsibility, mounted her high horse, and had her own way. “I sincerely hope the young people will be happy,” he said lamely. “I—er—trust so!” “Be their own fault if they aren’t!” declared Mrs. Braxfield sharply. “What’s to prevent it? I shan’t! I’ve been uncommonly good to them—especially to him; far more so than most mothers would have been in similar circumstances, I assure you, Mr. Fransemmery. You don’t know everything!” “I know next to nothing, ma’am,” protested Mr. Fransemmery. “I am just acquainted with the bare fact of the marriage.” “Well, I’ll tell you,” said Mrs. Braxfield. “I don’t mind your knowing, and I don’t mind this young man knowing, stranger though he is——” “I’ve been trying to say good-bye for the last ten minutes,” said Blick good-humouredly. “But you were so engrossed with your family affairs that you didn’t notice I’d risen, Mrs. Braxfield. I wasn’t lingering to listen—out of curiosity.” “Never said you were!” retorted Mrs. Braxfield. “Sit down again—as you’re concerned in Guy Markenmore’s affairs, you’re concerned in his brother’s, my son-in-law. I said I didn’t mind your knowing the facts of this marriage—I don’t mind anybody knowing; it’s not my fault that it hasn’t been open. It was like this, Mr. Fransemmery. You know that my daughter is a very pretty, very graceful, highly accomplished girl. She gets her good looks from my family—all our women have been distinguished for their good looks, though I say it myself.” “You may safely and justly say it for yourself, ma’am!” murmured Mr. Fransemmery. “As I have frequently observed.” “I join in Mr. Fransemmery’s sentiments, Mrs. Braxfield,” added Blick with a bow. “Precisely what I was thinking!”