"That is good to hear. And when the right man comes along you will not refuse him simply because he does not have a long pedigree?" "Please do not say too much about it," Mary pleaded. "If you only knew how dreadfully ashamed you make me feel! As if it mattered, as if anything mattered, so long as the woman loved the man and he was worthy of her affection. There, Ralph, do you need me to say any more than that! A man does not need a long pedigree or a fine estate to be a gentleman. But, really, you are making me false to my creed, and I shall not tell you anything else till I have seen Mrs. Speed. This is the house. Will you wait outside?" "Certainly not," Ralph said, "I have something to say to Mrs. Speed as well as you. You will perhaps be surprised to hear that she is an old friend of my father's. Come along." Mrs. Speed came up from the kitchen very hot and very red, and inclined to be angry at being disturbed at this time of the day. She began to explain volubly to Mary why the boxes had not yet been sent off. In the hall a man was calling for the landlady. She broke off in her exclamations and stared at Ralph. She seemed terribly agitated, her face grew white, her eyes astonished, as Ralph held out his hand. "A ghost!" she said, "a ghost from the grave. And yet it could not be; after all these years, it is impossible that the form of--well, what is it?" The man in the hall came swaggering into the room. He glanced at Ralph, and would have vanished had not the latter detained him. "This is an unexpected meeting," he said. "I did not expect to see you here so far away from home, Sir Vincent Dashwood." "Sir Vincent Dashwood!" Mrs. Speed cried. "Then who, sir, are _you_, I'd like to know?" CHAPTER XLIX. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE Just for a moment it looked as if Ralph's pretty scheme was destined to fall to the ground. Naturally, Mary had the haziest idea of what was taking place. She could only see that the man whom she knew as Sir Vincent Dashwood was looking most terribly uneasy and casting imploring glances at Mrs. Speed. It seemed strange that anybody should in any way be craving the good favours of the faded-looking woman, but such was the case. If she had had the so-called baronet's life in her hands he could not have regarded her with more entreaty. And, as to her part, Mrs. Speed looked from one man to the other in a dazed kind of way, as if she had not the slightest idea what was taking place. Her face turned from red to white and then to red again; she seemed to have some difficulty with her breathing. "I--I don't understand," she gasped. "You are asking for me. It must be wrong to say that this gentleman is Sir Vincent Dashwood."