“My lord,” said Wimmering, recovering his countenance, “I trust I may be able to do so. It might not be an easy task, but it has occurred to me — if I may speak frankly on a subject of an intimate nature?”

Adam looked surprised, but nodded.

“Such unhappy situations as this are not of such rare occurrence as one could wish, my lord,” said Mr Wimmering, intently scrutinizing his fingers. “I could tell you of cases within my own experience where the sadly fallen fortunes of a noble house have been resuscitated by a judicious alliance.”

“Good God, are you suggesting that I should marry an heiress?” Adam demanded.

“It has frequently been done, my lord.”

“I daresay it has, but you mustn’t expect me to do it, I’m afraid,” returned Adam. “I don’t think I’m acquainted with any heiresses, and I’m sure I shouldn’t be regarded as an eligible suitor.”

“On the contrary, my lord! Your lineage is distinguished; you are the holder of a title; the owner of very considerable estates, and of a seat — as you have said yourself — of historic interest.”

“I never suspected that you had a turn for nonsense!” Adam interrupted. “These possessions of mine are very fine-sounding until you tap “them, when they have a hollow ring. In any event, I don’t contemplate putting myself up for sale.”

There was a note of finality in his voice, and Wimmering bowed to it, content for the present to have instilled the idea into his brain. He might recoil from it, but Wimmering had formed a favourable opinion of his good sense, and he hoped that when he had recovered from the shock of finding himself on the brink of ruin he would perceive the advantages of what was, in his adviser’s view, a very simple way out of his difficulties. It was fortunate that he was unattached — if he was unattached. Wimmering knew that a year previously he had fancied himself in love with Lord Oversley’s daughter; but no notice of an engagement had ever appeared, and the connection had not met with the Fifth Viscount’s approbation.