"I had some news this morning of my sister," he said. "You heard of the sad termination to her engagement?"
"No; what was that?"
"She was to be married before Christmas to a Mr. Luttrell; but Mr. Luttrell was killed a short time ago by a shot from his brother's gun when they were out shooting together."
"How very sad!"
"The brother has gone—or is going—abroad; report says that he takes the matter very much to heart. And Angela is going to live with Mrs. Luttrell, the mother of these two men. I thought these details might be interesting to you," said Vivian, looking round half-questioningly, "because I understand that the Luttrells are related to your young friend—or cousin—Miss Murray."
"Indeed? I never heard her mention the name," said Mrs. Heron.
Vivian thought of something that he had recently heard in connection with Miss Murray and the Luttrell family, and wondered whether she knew that if Brian Luttrell died unmarried she would succeed, to a great Scotch estate. But he said nothing more.
"Where is Elizabeth?" said Percival, restlessly. "She is a great deal too much with these children—they drag the very life out of her. I shall go and find her."
He marched away, noting as he went, with much dissatisfaction, that Mrs. Heron was inviting Vivian to dinner, and that he was accepting the invitation.
He went to the top of the house, where he knew that a room was appropriated to the use of the younger children. Here he found Elizabeth for once without the three little Herons. She was standing in the middle of the room, engaged in the prosaic occupation of folding up a table-cloth.