"Her manner towards me to-night can scarcely be called encouraging. She was decidedly cold and standoffish."
"Perseverance on your part will soon overcome her indifference."
"If I must take a wife, why must she be cousin Trixie, seeing that she hasn't a penny to bless herself with?"
"She is richer than you or I," said the earl, with a dry laugh. "Ivar, I am about to tell you a secret, the knowledge of which will soon cause you to waive your objection—if you have any—to this match."
"Richer than I," thought Ivar. "What does the old fool mean?"
The earl seemed ill at ease. He remained silent for several minutes, evidently debating within himself as to the wisdom of disclosing the secret. At last, after glancing all around the apartment, as if to make certain that no one was within hearing, he bent forward in his chair towards Ivar, and began to speak in a low tone. The communication took a long time in the telling, and when it was ended, the viscount sat in silence with a look of consternation on his face.
Recovering from his amazement he muttered hoarsely, "Why have you not told me of this before?"
"You were not of an age to hear it. You are old enough now to understand the virtues of silence and secrecy."
"And this, this son—what did you call him, Idris?—where is he now?"
For reply Lord Ormsby produced from the bookcase a copy of the Times newspaper, dated seven years previously.