Something in the young man’s manner of saying this, rather than the saying itself, seemed to strike Mr. Grant, for he glanced at the other with a momentary keenness of scrutiny, and presently said:
“Your father, I think you mentioned, was a clergyman?”
“He was Herbert Lancaster.”
Mr. Grant halted for a moment in his walk to extract his snuff-box from his pocket. After having taken a pinch, he again gave a sharp look at his companion, and observed as he walked on:
“My prolonged absence from my native land has made my recollection of such matters a little rusty, but am I mistaken in supposing there is a title in the family?”
“My uncle is Lord Croftus—the fifth baron.”
“Ah! precisely; yes, yes. Then was it not your father who married a daughter of the Earl of Seabridge? or am I confounding him with another?”
“You are quite right. He married the youngest daughter, Alice; and I am their only child, for lack of a better.”
“Ah! Very singular,” returned Mr. Grant; but he did not explain in what the singularity consisted.