"What is the matter with Gurney to-day?" said Sir Cæsar, when Walter had quitted the party. "He has been mum as a fish, did not sing, and looks thoroughly upset."
"He has studied too hard," observed Flora; but her smile betokened that some other cause for the young man's trouble had occurred to her mind.
"He feels this weather as I do," cried Sir Cæsar, passing his handkerchief over his heated brow.
"By-the-by," said Captain Mills, "did you see the paragraph in the Weekly Times which came by this mail?"
"I have not opened the paper yet," said Sir Cæsar.
"There's a paragraph about a certain Gilbert Gurney, only surviving son of Augustus Gurney, Esq. of Eaton Square and Claverdon Hall being killed by a fall in the hunting-field."
"Ha! that must be the son of Walter's uncle!" exclaimed Sir Cæsar; "then our friend Walter will be, I suppose, next heir to a handsome estate and at least ten thousand a-year."
"Lucky fellow!" ejaculated the captain; "lucky in everything I take it. But I don't suppose that the property is entailed, and Mr. Gurney of Claverdon Hall may not sympathise with his nephew's missionary peculiarities."
"Oh, we'll hear no more of that nonsense now," said Sir Cæsar; "the heir to ten thousand per annum will see matters in quite a new light."
There the conversation on the subject ended. Flora had not joined in it, but busied herself with newly arranging some flowers in a vase. But it was noticed by those who accompanied her in her afternoon ride that the young lady was in unusually high spirits at the prospect of her speedy departure for England.