‘They have not told me much of their case, of course; a mere outline, nothing more. But it is evidently a strong one. They have discovered, so they say, old Herbert Farrington’s marriage—if it’s a bonâ fide discovery we are bound to accept it, after due verification, at least.’
‘What do they pretend?’
‘That the real Herbert Farrington, when serving in the 12th Lancers as Corporal Smith, married Ann Orde, and had issue.’
‘This Larkins? Sergeant Larkins of the Duke’s Own? I’ll never believe it; not if I live to a hundred. But, father, what do you mean to do? You will resist, surely; for my sake—for that of my children, you will not give in?’
‘If we could effect a compromise—’
‘Never!’ cried Letitia. ‘Never, with my consent. I protest against any compromise at all.’
‘It might be wise.’
Was it possible that Sir Rupert had reasons for dreading a law-suit? No one knew more about the case than himself. Was he in possession of any information—damaging facts—which he had so far kept secret, but which would be certain to come out on a trial?
‘But a long law-suit! It would eat up the whole estate. No doubt this pretender, this Mr. Larkins, would gladly come to terms. A few thousands paid on the nail would silence him for good.’