Horace chuckled silently. "Which goes to Captain Jadby?"
"Yes. The earlier will comes into force now that the latter one has been destroyed."
"In that case," observed Horace, complacently puffing at his pipe, "I should advise her to marry Captain Jadby."
Shepworth, still looking uneasy, went to stare out of the window, and it was Prelice who replied. "I'm hanged if she'll do that."
"Why not?" inquired the doctor, with a keen glance. "Jadby has the money by Shepworth's showing; he isn't bad-looking, and he loves her devotedly. Also, it was Sir Oliver's wish."
"Jadby's a cattish ruffian," cried Prelice warmly, and with a sudden access of colour; "we don't know where he comes from or——"
"From the South Seas, my old son."
"Or who he is," continued Prelice impetuously. "It would be a shame that so delightful a girl should marry a shady buccaneer. Ned, you are engaged to Miss Chent—why don't you speak?"
"There is nothing to say," replied the barrister somewhat coldly. "If Miss Chent will take me, a pauper as I am, I shall only be too charmed to make her my wife."
Prelice raised his eyebrows. A conviction was forcing itself upon him that Ned had no real love for the girl. But if that was the case, why had he become engaged to her; why had he so vigorously defended her of late? Then there was Mrs. Dolly Rover; but Prelice knew nothing about that mysterious lady, as he had not seen her since returning to London. He had half a mind then and there to demand an explanation from Ned; but the presence of Dr. Horace restrained him, and with an afterthought of wisdom, he determined to interview Mrs. Rover herself before coming to an understanding with the barrister.