“Yes; two. But they came into the world in the primitive way in which Mr. Owen wishes us all to come—too naturally for the present state of society, and Mr. Owen’s parallelogram was not ready for them. By the way, one of them disappeared at Paris—you never met with him, I suppose?”
“Under what name?”
“Morton.”
“Morton! hem! What Christian name?”
“Philip.”
“Philip! no. But did Mr. Beaufort do nothing for the young men? I think I have heard somewhere that he took compassion on one of them.”
“Have you? Ah, my brother-in-law is precisely one of those excellent men of whom the world always speaks well. No; he would very willingly have served either or both the boys, but the mother refused all his overtures and went to law, I fancy. The elder of these bastards turned out a sad fellow, and the younger,—I don’t know exactly where he is, but no doubt with one of his mother’s relations. You seem to interest yourself in natural children, my dear Vaudemont?”
“Perhaps you have heard that people have doubted if I were a natural son?”
“Ah! I understand now. But are you going?—I was in hopes you would have turned back my way, and—”
“You are very good; but I have a particular appointment, and I am now too late. Good morning, Lord Lilburne.” Sidney with one of his mother’s relations! Returned, perhaps, to the Mortons! How had he never before chanced on a conjecture so probable? He would go at once!—that very night he would go to the house from which he had taken his brother. At least, and at the worst, they might give him some clue.