"He should have done so, for my sake," said George, indignantly.
"Certainly, and I urged him to do so," said Mr. Ireland, heavily. "I was in Italy at the time, and you were only an infant in arms."
"Who was my nurse then?"
"Jane Fraser--the Scotch nurse who afterward brought you to your grandfather Lockwood when Mr. Vane was murdered."
"Do you remember the other nurse--the first one I had?"
Mr. Ireland grew indignant, and puffed angrily at his cigar. "I do, indeed," he said wrathfully, "a vulgar, forward hussy. She was not bad-looking, either, and set up for being a lady." Here he began to laugh. "Would you believe it, George, my boy, she was in love with your father, and showed it so plainly that he was obliged to get rid of her?"
"What was her name?"
"Eliza Stokes. And she was handsome in a bouncing way."
"What became of her?"
"I can't tell you," said Ireland, with sudden reserve.