Sir Paget was a childless widower, and had been left a noble fortune in many ways, including nearly the whole of Slough-cum-Sloggit, of which his father rose by his own merits to be mayor. He had entered the town a tattered lad, with only a sixpence in his pocket, and, in due time, the sixpence became the basis of colossal wealth. He had been made a baronet by the ministry of the day—no one knew precisely for what; but the wealth he left behind him gave his son an interest in the eyes of Lady Aberfeldie he was unlikely to attain in the soft hazel orbs of her daughter.
Sir Paget generally stood with his chest puffed out, reminding one of a pouter-pigeon, his little, fat hands interlaced behind his back, and often as not under the tails of his coat, his round, good-humoured face and twinkling eyes turned up to the faces of those with whom he conversed, as most men, and women, too, had the advantage of him in stature.
With a gold pince-nez balanced on his very pug nose, he was what young ladies described as 'an absurd little man' whose tender speeches they laughed at—none more than Eveline—till matters took a serious turn, though he failed to feel the truth of the aphorism, 'Let no lover cherish sanguine hopes when the object of his choice has grown to look upon him in the light of the ridiculous.'
Evan Cameron, we have said, sighed for Eveline; hopeless as his undeclared love had been, the presence of the wealthy English baronet, in conjunction with certain rumours he had heard, made it more hopeless than ever; and, unattractive though Sir Paget's years and figure, he felt intuitively that in him he had a dangerous rival.
When he found that this most eligible parti was again on the tapis—one whose name had been associated with that of Eveline in at least one 'society' paper during the last London season, poor Stratherroch's heart sank down to zero. He felt and knew that, with Lady Aberfeldie especially, he was literally 'nowhere' by his want of wealth, though, like a true Highlander, he could trace his lineage back into the misty times of Celtic antiquity; but, aristocratic though she was, the peeress set little store on that.
Eveline Graham seemed as much beyond his reach as the moon. He felt that, for his own peace of mind, he ought to quit Dundargue as soon as possible, yet he clung desperately to the perilous delight of the girl's society.
To all appearance, the pair were simply looking over, almost in silence, a large book of clear-skied and strongly-shadowed photos of Indian scenery brought home by Allan, yet both their hearts had but a single thought, and, when the downward glance of his soft grey eyes met hers, she felt that, in spite of herself, there was something in it like a magnetic spell.
Passionate and pleading eyes they were, generous and loving in expression, telling the tale his lips had not yet uttered, and might never do so; and the girl lowered her white lids as if a weight oppressed them, and the diamond locket on her white bosom sparkled as a sigh escaped her.
A little way off, in something of the same pose, Hawke Holcroft, with a glass in his pale, sinister eye, was hanging, as we have said, over Olive Raymond, doing his utmost in sotto voce to fascinate that young lady, while pretending to translate, as suited the occasion and himself, for the edification of his fair listener, the lettering of one of the Chinese or Japanese fans that were strewed about the tables.
Now, Mr. Hawke Holcroft knew nothing about the terms of Mr. Raymond's will, or of the existence of any such document, and might never know. He was only certain that Olive was undoubtedly an heiress; that he himself was very impecunious, and ere long might be well-nigh desperate; and so he did not see why he should not, to use his own horsey phraseology, 'enter stakes as well as another.'