"That," said Mr. Grainger, not looking at me now, "is all."

"The Lady Sophia," murmured Sir Richard as if to "himself, "the
Lady Sophia!" And then, stopping suddenly before me in his walk,
"Oh, Peter!" said he, clapping his hand down upon my shoulder,
"oh, Peter, that settles it; you're done for, boy--a crueller
will was never made."

"Marriage!" said I to myself. "Hum!"

"A damnable iniquity," exclaimed Sir Richard, striding up and
down the room again.

"The Lady Sophia Sefton of Cambourne!" said I, rubbing my chin.

"Why, that's just it," roared the baronet; "she's a reigning
toast--most famous beauty in the country, London's mad over
her--she can pick and choose from all the finest gentlemen in
England. Oh, it's 'good-by' to all your hopes of the inheritance,
Peter, and that's the devil of it."

"Sir, I fail to see your argument," said I.

"What?" cried Sir Richard, facing round on me, "d'you think
you'd have a chance with her then?"

"Why not?"

"Without friends, position, of money? Pish, boy! don't I tell