"I have had no reason to repent me thereof," replied Basset, complacently. "My family are charming; Mona is a fine girl in face and figure."
"Quite a Tresilian—eh?" said the old man, proudly.
"And your nephew, Lance, is as handsome a boy as any in London. I have, indeed, prospered every day since I placed the marriage hoop on Marion's finger."
"Egad! you sing your own praises well, nephew Basset," said the baronet, after a pause. "But you, Arthur—why have you not imitated this fine example? I cannot last for ever, and I don't want my estates to go begging for owners."
Arthur coloured with too evident vexation.
"They cannot beg far, dear uncle," he replied, "while I have the good fortune to be your heir; and, then, Basset——"
"His sons, you would say?"
"Yes," replied the other, with a faint voice; for Basset was regarding him so keenly that he felt his colour deepen.
"What is the booby blushing for?" asked Sir Launcelot, laughing. "Blushing at forty! By Jove! I was cured of it at fourteen! Will you ride with—I mean, drive over with me to Carn Mornal to-morrow? My friend Trelawny has three fine daughters, and I should like you to make their acquaintance. Tresilian and Trelawny would quarter well on a shield; or would it be impaled? Will you go, Arthur?"
"I regret to say it is impossible, sir."