Not until twelve calendar months had passed since his father’s death did his cousin, and the Dowager Countess, receive tidings from him that he was in England, and about to take possession of his inheritance. He wrote a very civil letter to his stepmother, informing her of the proposed date of his arrival at Stanyon, and enquiring in the politest way after her health, and the healths of his half-brother and sister. It was a very pretty letter, the Dowager allowed, but, she added, in unhopeful accents, his mother had had just such caressing ways, and had shown herself to be a Snake in the Bosom.

“I should perhaps warn you, ma’am, that my cousin will not relish animadversions upon the character of his mother,” said Mr. Theodore Frant, a little tight-lipped. “In his presence, such remarks should be spared.”

“My dear Theo,” responded the Dowager, “it would be odd indeed if I were to be obliged to consult you on the observances of civility!” He bowed, and, because she cherished no ill-will towards him, she said graciously: “Or anyone else, I am sure! In this house, Desborough — or, as I must learn to call him, St. Erth-may be sure of every attention called for by his consequence.”

“Just so, ma’am,” Mr. Frant said, bowing again.

“Providence has decreed that he should succeed to his dear father’s honours,” pronounced the Dowager, thinking poorly of Providence. “One might have supposed that military service in the Peninsula — a very unhealthy locality, I understand, setting aside the chances of Violent Death in an engagement, which cannot be altogether precluded — might have rendered the present occasion unnecessary. But it was not to be! Had my advice been sought, I should have considered myself bound to state that a military career, for one whom I should have had no hesitation in declaring to be far from robust, could be little short of Fatal! That, my dear Theo, I must have said, for, whatever must be my maternal feelings, if there be one thing upon which I pride myself it is my observance of my duty as a Christian! Happily, as it then seemed (though, according to the workings of an inscrutable fate, it now appears to be a circumstance of little moment), my advice was not sought.