"Two first cousins, they tell me—old fellows now; and one of them has a son or two; but not one called Guy, and none answering this description, you see; and neither have a shadow of a claim, or ever pretended; and as for that unfortunate accident—"
"Pray spare me," said the old lady, grimly.
"Well, they did not care a brass farthing about the poor fellow, so they would never move to give me trouble in that matter; and, in fact, people never do stir in law, and put themselves to serious expense, purely for a sentiment—even a bad one."
"I remember some years ago you were very much alarmed, Jekyl."
"No, I was not. Who the plague says that? There's nothing, thank Heaven, I need fear. One does not like to be worried with lawsuits—that's all—though there is and can be no real danger in them."
"And was it from these cousins you apprehended lawsuits?" inquired Lady Alice.
"No, not exactly—no, not at all. I believe that fellow Strangways—that fellow that used to live on poor Guy—I fancy he was the mover of it—indeed I know he was."
"What did they proceed for?" asked the old lady. "You never told me—you are so secret, Jekyl."
"They did not proceed at all—how could I? Their attorneys had cases before counsel affecting me—that's all I ever heard; and they say now it was all Strangways' doing—that is, Pelter and Crowe say so. I wish I were secret."
Old Lady Alice here heaved a deep groan, and said, not with asperity, but with a fatigued abhorrence—