‘Revenge! What can you mean?’
‘Of course, you know, Mrs. Bury never forgave Herbert’s taking her for a tramp, and you know how nasty uncle was about that white rook and the bets. Oh, it is quite plain. He was to be deprived of his rights, and so this journey was contrived, and they got into this out-of-the-way, inaccessible place, and sent poor Conny away, and then had no doctor or nurse—exactly as people always do.’
‘Oh, Ida, only in stories! Your novels are turning your head.’
‘Novels are transcripts of life,’ again said Ida, solemnly quoting.
‘I don’t believe it if they put such things into your head,’ said her mother. ‘Asking Herbert to be godfather too! Such a compliment!’
‘An empty compliment, to hoodwink us and the poor boy,’ said Ida. ‘No, no, ma, the keeping you away settles it in my mind, and it shall be the business of my life to unmask that!’
So spoke Ida, conscious of being a future heroine.
It was quite true that Herbert had been asked to stand godfather to his little cousin’s admission into the Church, after, of course, a very good report had been received from his tutor. ‘You are the little fellow’s nearest kinsman,’ wrote Lord Northmoor, ‘and I trust to you to influence him for good.’ Herbert wriggled, blushed, thought he hated it, was glad it had been written instead of spoken, but was really touched.
His uncle had justly thought responsibility would be wholesome, and besides, Herbert represented to him his brother, for whom he had a very tender feeling.
It was quite true that Northmoor was as full as