"Hugo Luttrell," his aunt began, very deliberately, "you are a poor man and an extravagant one." Hugo smiled, and bowed his head. "But you are only extravagant. You are not vicious. You have never done a dishonourable thing--one for which you need blush or fear to meet the eye of an honest man? Answer me that, Hugo. I may know what you will say, but I want to hear it from your own lips." Hugo did not flinch. His face assumed the boyish innocence of expression which had often stood him in good stead. His great, dark eyes looked boldly into hers. "That is all true, Aunt Margaret. I may have done foolish things, but nothing worse. I have been extravagant, as you say, but I have not been dishonourable." He could not have dared to say so much if Richard or Brian had been alive to contradict him; but they were safely out of the way and he could say what he chose. "Then I can trust you, Hugo." "I will try to be worthy of your trust, Aunt Margaret." He bent down to kiss her hand in his graceful, foreign fashion; but she drew it somewhat hastily away. "No. None of your Sicilian ways for me, Hugo. That foreign drop in your blood is just what I hate. But you're the only Luttrell left; and I hope I know my duty. I want to have a talk with you about the house, and the property, and so on." "I shall be glad if I can do anything to help you," said Hugo, smoothly. His cheek was beginning to flush; he wished that his aunt would come to the point. Suspense was very trying! But Mrs. Luttrell seemed to be in no hurry. "You know, perhaps," she said, "that I am a tolerably rich woman still. The land, the farms, and the moors, and all that part of the property passed to Miss Murray upon my sons' deaths; but this house and the grounds (though not the loch nor the woods) are still mine, and I have a fair income with which to keep them up. I should like to know that one of my husband's name was to come after me. I should like to know that there would be Luttrells of Netherglen for many years to come." She paused a few minutes, but Hugo made no reply. "I have a proposition to make to you," she went on presently. "I don't make it without conditions. You shall hear what they are by-and-bye. I should like to make you my heir. I can leave my money and my house to anyone I choose. I have about fifteen-hundred a-year, and then there's the house and the garden. Should you think it worth having?" "I think," said Hugo, with a wily avoidance of any direct answer, "that it is very painful to hear you talk of leaving your property to anyone." "That is mere sentimental nonsense," replied his aunt, with a perceptible increase in the coldness of her manner. "The question is, will you agree to the conditions on which I leave my money to you?" "I will do anything in my power," murmured Hugo.