In his fervor he said the words unconsciously aloud. “What nonsense are you talking to yourself?” said his mother angrily. “And people say dead--not deaded.” Jack shrank into his corner and watched the wreaths of steam fly on against the dark. “What’s the use of being all grandpa’ was?” he thought. “Mammy’ll always be bullying.” Jack had seen his grandfather omnipotent, deferred to by everybody, and independent in all actions; why did not these privileges descend with the dukedom to himself? “You’re a minor, Jack,” one of his aunts had said to him, but the word had only confused him. He thought it meant a man who worked underground with a pickaxe and a safety-lamp as he had seen them drawn in instructive books. “Harry’ll tell me all I can do,” he thought; and comforted by that thought he fell asleep like his brother. “I can see no one,” she said to her groom of the chambers the next morning in Stanhope Street. “No exceptions, your Grace?” asked that functionary, his mind reverting to Brancepeth. “None,” she answered curtly--“at least only Gregge.” This gentleman waited on her and bore himself with a manner that expressed his wounded feelings at not having been sent for into the country. “Never mind that,” she said impatiently. “They don’t like you, you know, because you give me good advice, and they think it bad; I want you to tell me what rights I have.” “I was not at the reading of the will, your Grace,” replied Mr. Gregge, still full of his own wrongs. “But I am sure you know all about it.” “I have heard something from Messrs. Wilton and Somers,” he answered cautiously, naming the London solicitors of the late dukes. “Well, what rights have I?” “Your rights are limited, madam; exceedingly limited. At least I believe so. I have no positive information.” Her pretty teeth shut tightly together. He seemed to her less polite and deferential than usual. “I do as I like with the children, don’t I?” she asked angrily. “Subject to their guardians’ approval.” “That is to say, I don’t?” He was silent. She beat the carpet very feverishly with her foot. “I keep the jewels, of course?” “Your own, madam, of course.” “I mean the Otterbourne jewels; the great Indian diamond?” “No, madam. I fear they will be removed from your keeping. You have no right of user over them.” Her eyes dilated with a strange expression. “They are not mine? For my lifetime?” Then, alarmed at the terror and fury he read in her countenance, he hastened to add: “I speak as _amicus curiæ_; I have not read the will; if you wish me to confer with the late duke’s legal advisers I will do so, and inform you more exactly of your position.”