"Don't talk of dying, sir! Please Heaven there are many years before you yet! You have not squandered your strength, as—as some of us have."
"Lord Leyton, for instance," said the earl, with a smile. "No, I won't talk of dying. We will talk of something more profitable. Blair, you will be the Earl of Ferrers presently; a few days, weeks, perhaps, and you will be the master of the Court. I have done my best for you, although you have done the worst for yourself."
"The very worst, sir," assented Blair, with the smile which, grim as it was, was still pleasant to see.
"The very worst! But it is not too late yet."
Blair looked hard at the carpet.
"Not too late! Blair, all your own property is gone, they tell me?"
"They tell you truly, sir," said poor Blair, gravely.
"But there is still the Court, and there will be my own money! I have saved for years. You will be rich, even as rich men go nowadays. Are you going to fling it all in the gutter, like that which has gone before?"
Blair remained silent. The old man watched the weary, haggard face keenly.
"I see! Ah, well! It will not matter to me, I suppose? But it is rather a pity, is it not? Ours is a good title, not a mushroom affair of yesterday. There are stones in the Court upon which time and history have set their seal, and they are to be flung in the gutter, eh? And with the heart of one of the best girls in England to be broken——"