Sir John smiled a little sarcastically. Butler was too coarse in his selfishness not to be understood. Murray again looked up. He evidently felt a keen interest in the question.
“She was legally married, I fancy. Whatever might have been the cause which drove her to the wilderness, Lady Granby was not a person to degrade herself knowingly.”
“You fancy, Sir John! I should like to have some security besides a man’s fancy where an inheritance like this is concerned. You are certain, sir, that the property is entailed—that female heirs come in, in short——”
“In short,” interrupted Sir John, with cutting sarcasm, “I have no fear that your interests are in peril, unless there is some informality in her mother’s marriage; your wife is the legal heiress of the Granby estates.”
Butler sat down again, struck breathless by this unexpected good fortune, so far beyond his wildest hopes.
“You mistook my meaning,” he said, even his coarse nature becoming conscious of the revolting light in which his conduct must appear to any observer; “I was thinking of Tahmeroo—she is too lovely a flower to waste her bloom in the wilderness.”
“You grow poetical, sir,” said Sir John, laughing; “your wife’s perfections are dawning upon you with new force.”
Butler did not appear to notice this remark, but went on with his own train of reflection.
“Then were Catharine Montour dead, no power could deprive Tahmeroo of the Granby estates and titles?”
“None, sir; the daughter of Gi-en-gwa-tah, the Shawnee chief, will be Countess of Granby.”