“Well, my love,” remarked Mrs. Scattergood, “I should not wish to be severe on a relative of yours, but I must say that I do not think the Admiral quite the thing.”
“I know it,” replied Miss Taverner.
“It is quite plain to me that he does not like to think of Perry with a nursery-full of stout children standing between him and the title. You must forgive me, my dear, but I do not perfectly know how things are left.”
“My uncle would inherit the title if Perry died without a son to succeed him, and also a part—only what is entailed, and it is very little—of the estate,” Judith answered. “It is I who would inherit the bulk of the fortune.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Scattergood thoughtfully. She seemed to be on the point of making some further remark, but changing her mind merely proposed their ordering the carriage and driving to a shop in Bond Street, where she fancied she would be able to match a particularly fine netting cotton.
Miss Taverner, having a book to change at Hookham’s Library, was quite agreeable, and in a short time both ladies set forth in an open barouche, the day (though it was November) being so extremely mild that even Mrs. Scattergood could not fear an inflammation of the lungs, or an injury to the complexion.
They arrived in Bond Street soon after two o’clock and found it as usual at that hour very full of carriages and smart company. Several tilburies and saddle-horses were waiting outside Stephen’s Hotel, and as Miss Taverner’s barouche passed the door of Jackson’s Boxing Saloon she saw her brother going in on Mr. Fitzjohn’s arm. She waved to him, but did not stop, and the carriage drawing up presently outside a haberdasher’s shop she set Mrs. Scattergood down and drove on to the library.
She had just handed in Tales of Fashionable Life, and was glancing through the volumes of one of the new publications when she felt a touch on her sleeve and turned to find her cousin at her elbow.
She gave him her hand, gloved in lemon kid. “How do you do? I believe one is sure of meeting everyone at Hookham’s, soon or late. Tell me, have you read this novel? I have just picked it at random from the shelf. I don’t know who wrote it, but do, my dear cousin, read where I have quite by accident opened the volume!”
He looked over her shoulder. Her finger pointed to a line. While he read she watched him, smiling, to see what effect the words must produce on him.