"Yes, they will, but your father'll be glad. He sets the world by you, Master Jasper."
"I believe he does, John," said Jasper. "I wish I could have saved him from this misfortune."
"It's too late now entirely."
"You are right. I don't know but it might be best for me to turn round and go back again to school without going to the house at all; but I must face this thing, and see for myself. If you've got nothing else to do, John, you may carry my valise."
"I'll do it, Master Jasper, directly. You go up to the house, and I'll be there in a jiffy."
So Jasper walked thoughtfully and sadly homeward.
We must precede him.
In a sunny sitting-room on the second-floor sat Jasper Kent's father in a luxurious arm-chair. He was barely fifty, but evidently a chronic invalid. His constitution had been undermined years before by a residence of several years in Central America, where he had acquired a fortune, but paid a costly price therefor in the loss of his health.
For years he had done no business other than to take care of his property, which was amply sufficient to enable him to live luxuriously. Yet he did not find the time hanging heavily upon his hands. Of a studious taste, he had surrounded himself with books and pictures. He received regularly a New York daily paper, and the leading magazines and reviews, and barring his ill-health, and occasional seasons of pain, passed his time in a placid and agreeable manner. Circumstances, perhaps, had fostered a disposition to indolence, and made it more difficult to resist the artful schemes of Miss Thorne, whom he had admitted into the house as governess of his little niece, Florence Grantley, but who had from the first cherished the ambitious design of making herself mistress of the establishment.
It is needless to recapitulate the steps she took in this direction. It is enough to chronicle her ultimate success.