“He intimates that he knows something that would let down my pride a peg or two. He hints that I am not the heir of Castle Roscoe.”
The boy used the term by which the house was usually known.
Allan Roscoe knit his brow in pretended vexation.
“Inconsiderate boy!” he murmured. “Why need he say this?”
“But,” said Hector, startled, “is it true?”
“My boy,” said his uncle, with simulated feeling, “my son has spoken to you of a secret which I would willingly keep from you if I could. Yet, perhaps, it is as well that you should be told now.”
“Told what?” exclaimed Hector, quite at sea.
“Can you bear to hear, Hector, that it is indeed true? You are not the owner of this estate.”
“Who is then?” ejaculated the astonished boy.
“I am; and Guy after me.”