“The late family lawyer!” the viscount exclaimed, incautiously, but added quickly, “yes, and you may have need of his services soon. Lady Elaine, at present I stand between you and a vast fortune. You know what my hopes have been and ever will be, but I want you to acquit me of having any hand in that infamous will! It is impossible to alter it, but I am not so mean a cur that I will permit you to lose one shilling because I suffer the keenest disappointment that it is possible for man to endure and live!”
She looked at him gratefully, and he pressed her hand in silence.
“There,” he concluded, “I will send the cart to the door for your luggage, and find that prying footman something to do. You have selected your train, I presume?”
“Two-thirty from Ashbourne,” Elaine said.
“Very well,” he went on, consulting his watch, “the carriage shall be waiting at two.”
He bowed gracefully, and left the room with the feelings of a victor.
“I shall win her,” he thought. “Aye, in a canter, I verily believe. Sympathy and kindness appeal to her haughty soul.”
At two o’clock Lady Elaine, Viscount Rivington and Nina, the maid, left the Lodge in Lady Gaynor’s rickety brougham, and were driven to Ashbourne station.
“It happears to me,” remarked the butler to the footman, “that there’s a good chance of our getting the back wages, but hang me if I can see the drift of the little game.”