“I will go to him, and will show him this ring and paper, and I will tell him that he is not base born, but born in lawful wedlock, and heir to a squire’s land. That will tempt him to turn from his evil ways, and he will go to his grandfather, and, of course, he will not know what my son has been, and what he will never be again, but will make up some clever story, and it will be all right.”
“Oh, it must be a wonderfully clever story to put your son straight with Squire Kensett—wonderfully clever, indeed. Why, don’t you know that the worthy magistrate in question has already had Dandy Sutherland before him upon the charge of attempting to defraud the Saltwich Bank?”
“Before Squire Kensett,” cried Mrs. Grover, perfectly aghast at this piece of information.
“Most certainly.”
“Alf is the squire’s grandson.”
“Is he?”
“Most certainly, he is the son of Mr. Robert Everhard Kensett—read that,” said Mrs. Grover, handing her companion the paper.
“Ah I see a marriage certificate, and your husband—this Mr. Robert Everhard Kensett—is dead.”
“Yes, he is. The ship he sailed in foundered at sea and all hands on board were lost.”
“How very unfortunate—very sad indeed! But this instrument appears to be genuine.”