Mr. Rivenhall did not present the appearance of one who remembered his little cousin, but he said in his cool way, “Certainly. I hope she is well, sir?”

“Never had a day’s illness in her life, barring the measles,” said Sir Horace. “You’ll see her for yourself soon; your mother is going to take charge of her while I’m in Brazil.”

It was plain that this way of breaking the news did not recommend itself to Lady Ombersley, who at once hurried into speech. “Well, of course it is not quite decided yet, though I am sure there is nothing I should like better than to have my dear brother’s daughter to stay with me. I was thinking, too, Charles, that it would be so pleasant for Cecilia. Sophia and she are nearly the same age, you know.”

“Brazil?” said Mr. Rivenhall. “That should be very interesting, I daresay. Do you make a long stay there, sir?”

“Oh, no!” replied Sir Horace vaguely. “Probably not. It will depend upon circumstance. I have been telling your mother that I shall be much in her debt if she can find an eligible husband for my Sophy. It’s time she was married, and your mother seems, from what I hear, to be quite a dab in that line. I understand I have to offer you my felicitations, my boy?”

“Thank you, yes,” said Mr. Rivenhall, with a slight bow.

“If you should not dislike it, Charles, I own I should be very happy to have Sophia,” said Lady Ombersley placatingly.

He cast her an impatient glance, and replied, “I beg you will do precisely as you wish, ma’am. I cannot conceive what business it is of mine.”

“Of course I have explained to your uncle that we lead very quiet lives.”

“She won’t give a fig for that,” said Sir Horace comfortably. “She’s a good little thing, never at a loss for something to occupy herself with. Just as happy in a Spanish village as in Vienna, or Brussels.”