"She is a dear girl," he remarked as his eyes followed two riding down the drive; "and she is growing a handsome girl. They make a fine pair. There will not be a better-matched couple in Essex."
Miss Lorraine turned a startled look upon him.
He met her glance, and arrested it for a moment with his keen old eyes.
"Yes," he said, significantly, "I mean it. Of course those two will marry. You cannot suppose that I contemplate anything else?"
Miss Lorraine grew hot and then cold. She was not exactly surprised. It was rather the realization of a dread that had long haunted her mind.
"The question is rather—what does Guy contemplate?" she said, quickly.
"Oh, as to that," said her uncle, coolly, "where could he find a more charming wife than Aldyth would make him? And would it not be the best thing possible for her?"
Miss Lorraine did not reply. As she followed her uncle across the wide oaken hall, she said to herself that many women would like to be the mistress of such a fine old house. What better position could she desire for Aldyth than that which she would win if she married her cousin, the heir of Wyndham? And yet there was something repugnant to her in the idea. Guy did not seem to her to possess the qualities that could make him a good husband for Aldyth.
They went back into the dining room. It was a large, handsome room; but its dark oaken furniture, dark hangings, and dark carpet made it appear gloomy. The whole house, indeed, had the dingy, uncared-for look that a home generally gets that has no lady as its presiding genius. The drawing room, a long, narrow room facing the garden, was rarely used.
Old Stephen stirred the fire into a blaze, seated himself in his armchair, folded his hands before him, and looked deliberately at his niece.