“I don’t understand myself.” “Can I explain you?” asked Roylands eagerly, drawing his chair a little nearer. Helena hesitated, blushed, then made a very irrelevant remark. “Tell me about Roylands.” Maurice very nearly uttered a bad word, he was so angered at her coquetry, but, thinking the best way to pique her was to meet her with the same weapons as she used, at once acceded to her request, much to her secret dismay. “Stupid!” thought the lady. “Flirt!” thought the gentleman. Decidedly these two young people were at cross-purposes. “Roylands,” said Maurice, pushing back his chair into its former place, “is a large park formerly owned by one of the Plantagenet kings.” “What is a Plantagenet king?” “I shall have to give you a book of Mangnall’s Questions to learn,” said Roylands in despair. “_Planta genista_ is the Latin name for broom. Do you know what broom is?” “Yes; the mountains are sometimes quite yellow with it. Father told me it was called broom.” “Well, some of the English kings used to wear it in their helmets as a badge, so that is how they got the name of Plantagenet.” “You are quite a dictionary.” “I am glad to be so when my pages are turned by so fair a hand.” This answer nonplussed Helena, and for once she was fain to hold her peace. “The park,” resumed Maurice, observing this with inward satisfaction, “was given to one of my ancestors by the then sovereign of England, and has been in our family ever since.” “Is it a pretty place?” “Well, it has not the exquisite beauty of Melnos, but it is very lovely in my eyes.” “Is the house like this?” “No; quite different. Such magnificence would not do for a poor country gentleman like myself. It is an old Tudor house, built in the reign of Henry VIII.” “I know Henry VIII.,” said Helena vivaciously. “Shakespeare, I suppose? What a charming way of learning history! Yes, Roylands Grange is a Henry VIII. house of red brick, and is covered with ivy. Green lawns with flower-beds are before the terrace, and the whole is encircled by the park.” “How lovely it must be, Maurice! And is it all your own?” “Yes; at least, it is unless my uncle Rudolph turns up.” “Your Uncle Rudolph!” “Oh, that is our one family romance. Rudolph Roylands was my father’s elder brother, and they were both in love with my mother. She favored my father, Austin, and the brothers had a quarrel which ended in blows. Austin got the worst of it, and Rudolph, thinking he had killed him, fled. Since then, nothing has been heard of him, and that is quite forty years ago.” “But how does this affect your owning the Grange?” “Because I am only the second branch. Uncle Rudolph was the heir to the Grange, not my father; so if he turns up alive, or if he has left heirs, I will have to give up all my property to them.” “Would you mind very much?” asked Helena in a pitying manner.