"I like him," said Sir John. "You are lucky in having secured so worthy an heir for your property."
"You don't like him better than I like your adopted child, Miss Sharston," was Mrs. Aylmer's low answer.
"Ay, she is a sweet girl—no one like her in the world," said Sir John. "I almost grudge her to her father, much as I love him. We were comrades on the battle-field, you know. Perhaps he has told you that story."
"I have heard it, but not from him," said Mrs. Aylmer, with a smile. "Your friendship for each other is quite of the David and Jonathan order. And so, my good friend"—she laid her white hand for an instant on Sir John's arm—"you are going to leave your property to your favourite Kitty?"
Sir John frowned; then he said shortly: "I see no reason for denying the fact. Kitty Sharston, when it pleases God to remove me, will inherit my wealth."
"She is a sweet, very sweet girl," replied Mrs. Aylmer. She glanced down the room; there was significance in her eyes.
Sir John followed her look. Kitty and Trevor had now stopped all music. Trevor was talking in a low tone to the girl; Kitty's head was slightly bent and she was pulling a white chrysanthemum to pieces.
"I wonder what he is saying to her?" thought Mrs. Aylmer. Then all of a sudden she made up her mind. "I should like it," she said aloud; "I should like it much."
Sir John started, and a slight accession of colour came into his ruddy cheeks.
"What do you mean?" he said.