Poor Cocky! Well, he was buried for good and all, with his crowns and crosses and harps and garlands all left to wither and rot above him, and he would never bore her and worry her and annoy her any more. She felt almost charitably toward him; he might have been worse, he might have been interfering and difficult and quarrelsome, and might have noticed, as his father had done, that the pretty children in his nursery had little resemblance to his family portraits. All was quite safe now, and he was silent for ever under his mass of decaying flowers. She passed to her carriage on her brother’s arm, amidst a respectful murmur of deep admiration and of that genuine good feeling which is so often awakened in crowds, they know not why and hardly know for whom. “Poor dear pretty crittur, widdered in all her bloom!” said a good village dame to her husband, the water in her honest eyes as they followed the two little fair heads of the orphaned boys. Then they all returned to the castle, and the will was read, and the thing was over, and she ate a luncheon in her own rooms with a good appetite. She was relieved that her sisters-in-law had taken their departure without going into, or making any remark about, their late mother’s morning-room. The fact was, that these ladies disliked her so extremely that they had hurried away after each funeral as quickly as they could, compatible with usage and decency. Her portrait by Henner was one of the most beautiful pictures in the galleries of Staghurst; but the old duke’s daughters would have preferred less loveliness and more scruples in the mother of the little boy with the soft black eyes, who was now the lawful head of their family. Jack, meanwhile, was full of his own new position, which his mind only dimly grasped; and the whole thing puzzled him greatly. Fifteen days before they had put his grandfather in a box, and shut down the slab of stone on him, and now they were doing the same with poor pappy, who would never any more come behind him on the staircases and painfully pinch his legs, or tap a hot cigarette unexpectedly against his cheek. Why was not Harry here to make it all clear to him? He did not know that Harry, who really and profoundly mourned the dead man, had desired to come to the funeral, had entreated to be allowed to come, but had been peremptorily forbidden. He noticed that all the people about Staghurst regarded him with awe, and the women bobbed very low in the country lanes; and the young footman who waited on him at table was very solicitous to press on him jams and candied fruits. It was the first time in his life that he had ever had as much jam as he wished for; rank has its privileges still, despite the Labor Party.