"Don't be silly. And I have warned you against letting that flipperty-flap Carrington gain too much influence over Rupert." "A quite unnecessary warning," said the girl, coldly. "You don't like Mr. Carrington, because he held his own against you." "Insolent beast!" growled Mallien, bristling. "And I think you said that you did not like him yourself." "I said that I did not trust him; but he is amusing enough to like as a companion for all that." "You'll find him very amusing when he rifles Rupert's pockets," sneered the gentle parent, fuming at her opposition. "I don't think that there is the least chance of his doing that, as Rupert--I said this before--is well able to look after himself. Besides, you have no grounds for saying that Mr. Carrington is a scamp." "A look is enough for me." "It's not enough to take away a man's character. And this talk of our being descended from John Hendle? What do you mean by that?" "I don't mean anything particular," responded Mallien, honestly enough. "It was Leigh who put it into my head." "The vicar. And what does he know of our family history?" "Much more than we do. He has been scrambling through the papers in the Muniment Room at The Big House." "Well, Rupert gave him permission to look out any documents likely to prove necessary for writing the history of the parish. You know he is writing a book." Mallien nodded. "He found letters, written by John Hendle, which showed how much our ancestor regretted that the estates should go to Frederick Hendle." "That is the younger son from whom Rupert is descended?" "Exactly. He was a bad lot apparently, Leigh says. Walter, who was the eldest son and our progenitor, was killed in the Battle of Waterloo, and he seems to have been the old man's favorite. If Walter had lived, we should have inherited The Big House and the estates." "Well, father," answered Dorinda with a shrug; "Walter didn't live, and we did not inherit the estates, so I don't see what is the use of talking." "I didn't say that there was any use," retorted Mallien crossly, "only I thought that the piece of family history discovered by Mr. Leigh might interest you." "It does in a way. But, after all, these family troubles happened nearly one hundred years ago." Dorinda was looking out of the window as she made this remark, and broke off suddenly. "Strange!" she said, staring into the garden. "What is strange?" "That we should have been talking of Mr. Leigh, for here he is with Titus Ark as his shadow, as usual. I wonder why he always has Titus at his heels?" "It's a very necessary precaution," said Mallien, grimly; "otherwise, Leigh is so absent-minded that he would get lost. Leigh has only come to look again at that Yucatan diary, which my father left me." "Does he want to see it?" asked Dorinda, forgetting that Leigh had seen the diary before.