“The whole matter!--there is no whole matter; nothing but guesses and perhapses. We do not want anything more said about it, Cousin Geoff.” “But we must have something more said about it, Cousin Grace. Who can tell? It might be dragged to light in the third or fourth generation,” he said with a smile. “Your grandson might question the right of mine, to any small remnant that may be left by that time.” “I will answer for my grandson,” said Grace. “But I cannot answer for mine; probably he will be a headstrong, hot-headed fellow. No, it must be settled now. Mr Furnival wants to know what evidence you have, one way or another; if you have anything that throws light on the subject: any clue to the past or information about the family or name? You may trust everything to his hands.” “But I told you we had no information whatever--none. I never heard the name before. My brother is called Leonard, that is the only thing; and there are one or two memoranda of papa’s.” “These will be of the utmost value.” “I don’t think you will find them of any value at all. One is in his little diary that he kept during the voyage. I do not like to give it into any stranger’s hands. No, there is nothing private in it; but only the little things that--that are more hard to look at than great ones,” said Grace. “Little, little things that we did every day--that we never shall do any more.” There was a pause, and then he said, insisting gently, “You must not think me troublesome and pertinacious; but you may be sure it will be handled with reverence, and given back to you without delay.”