‘It is a pity she cannot have the gratification of hearing it, poor woman,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, ‘but it is a fact that she did poor George Dusautoy the honour to marry him.’ ‘Mr. Dusautoy’s brother?’ ‘Ay--he was a young surgeon, just set up in practice, exactly like John--nay, some people thought him still finer-looking. She was a Miss Greenaway Cavendish, a stock-broker’s heiress of a certain age.’ ‘Oh!’ expressively cried Albinia. ‘You may say so,’ returned Mrs. Dusautoy. ‘She made him put away his profession, and set up for taste and elegant idleness.’ ‘And he submitted?’ ‘There was a great deal of the meek giant in him, and he believed implicitly in the honour she had done him. It would have been very touching, if it had not been so provoking, to see how patiently and humbly that fine young man gave up all that would have made him happy, to bend to her caprices and pretensions.’ ‘Did you ever see them together?’ ‘No, I never saw her at all, and him only once. I never knew John really savage but once, and that was at her not letting him come to our wedding; but she did give him leave of absence for one fortnight, when we were at Lauriston. How happy the brothers were! It did one good to hear their great voices about the house; and they were like boys on a stolen frolic, when John took him to prescribe for some of our poor people. He used to talk of bringing us his little son--the one pleasure of his life--but he never was allowed. Oh, how I used to long to stir up a mutiny!’ cried Mrs. Dusautoy, quite unknowing that she ruled her own lion with a leash of silk. ‘If she had appreciated him, it would have been bearable; but to her he was no more than the handsome young doctor, whom she had made a gentleman, and not a very good piece of work of it either! Little she recked of the great loving heart that had thrown itself away on her, and the patience that bore with her; and she tried to hinder all the liberal bountiful actions that were all he cared to do with his means! I wish the boy may remember him!’ ‘How long has he been dead?’ ‘These ten years. He was drowned in a lake storm in Switzerland--people clung to him, and he could not swim. It was John’s one great grief--he cannot mention him even now. And really,’ she added, smiling, ‘I do believe he has brought himself to fancy it was a very happy marriage. She has always been very civil; but she has been chiefly abroad, and never would take his advice about sending her boy to school.’ ‘What becomes of him now?’ ‘He is our charge. She was on the way home from Italy, when she was taken ill at Paris, and died at the end of the week.’ ‘How old is he?’ ‘About nineteen, I fancy. He must have had an odd sort of education; but if he is a nice lad, it will be a great pleasure to John to have something young about the house.’ ‘I was thinking that Mr. Dusautoy hardly wanted more cares.’