'That is but another of your venturesome assertions,' said the Countess, in a tone of sharp rebuke. 'It frequently happens that a family likeness, absent in youth, grows striking as the person advances in years. That will, no doubt, be the case with Edmund.'
The young Count laughed and shook his head.
'I doubt it. I am formed in altogether a different mould. Indeed, I often wonder how I, with my hot, excitable blood, my thoughtlessness and high spirits, for which I am always being lectured, could come of a race so desperately wise and virtuous; in fact, rather slow and stupid from overmuch virtue. Oswald, now, would represent the family far better than I.'
'Edmund!' cried the Countess indignantly.
It was uncertain whether her remonstrance applied to the young man's last assertion, or to his irreverent mention of his forefathers.
'Well, I ask pardon of the shades of my ancestors,' said Edmund, rather abashed. 'You see, mother, I have none of their traditional excellences, not even that of sober sense.'
'My aunt was meaning something else, I fancy,' said Oswald quietly.
The Countess pressed her lips together tightly. Her face plainly betokened the dislike she had avowed to the cold, searching eyes now resting upon her.
'Enough of this dispute on the subject of family likeness,' she said, waiving the point. 'Tradition affords at least as many exceptions as rules. Oswald, I wish you would look through these papers. You have some legal knowledge. Our solicitor seems to consider the issue of the affair as doubtful, but I am sanguine, and Edmund is of my opinion, that we must follow out the matter to the end.'
So saying, she pushed the papers, which were lying on the table, across to her nephew, who glanced at their contents.