"Or if Geoffrey should fall desperately in love with her," mused Mrs. Mornington, on her way to the village street, not quite heroic enough to put the owner of Discombe Manor altogether out of her calculations; "but, no, I shouldn't care about that. It would be too risky."
That which Mrs. Mornington would not care about was the mental tendency that Geoffrey might inherit from his mother, whom the strong-minded, clear-headed lady regarded as a visionary, if not a harmless lunatic. No! Geoffrey was clever, interesting, fascinating even; but he was not to be compared with Allan, whose calm common sense had won Mrs. Mornington's warmest liking.
After that morning on the links, and the friendly homeward walk, Allan felt more hopeful about Suzette; but he was not the less bent upon bringing to bear every influence which might help him to win her for his own, before any other suitor should come forward to dispute the prize with him. Happily for him, there were few eligible young men in the neighbourhood, and those few thought more of horses and guns than of girlhood and beauty.
Lady Emily had promised her son a visit in the autumn. Allan hoped that his father would accompany her. He wanted to bring Suzette into the narrow circle of his home life, to bring her nearer to himself by her liking for his mother and father. With this intent he urged on the promised visit, delighted at the thought that his mother's presence would enable him to receive Suzette as a guest in the house where he hoped she would some day be mistress.
He wrote to his father, reminding him of his assurance that he would not always remain a stranger to his son's home, and this letter of his, which dwelt earnestly upon certain unexplained reasons why he was especially anxious for his father's early presence at Beechhurst, was not without effect. The recluse consented to leave his library, which perhaps was no greater sacrifice on his part than Lady Emily made in leaving her farm. Indeed, one of the inducements which Allan held out to his mother was the promise of a pair of white peacocks from Mrs. Wornock, finer and whiter than the birds at Fendyke.
Mr. Carew professed himself pleased with his son's surroundings.
"Your house is like the good man who bequeathed it to you," he said, after his tour of inspection; "essentially comfortable, solid, and commonplace. The admiral had a grand solidity of character; but even your mother will not deny that he was commonplace."
Lady Emily nodded a cheery assent. She always agreed with her husband on all points that did not touch the white farm. There her opinions were paramount; and she would not have submitted to dictation in so much as the ears of a rabbit.
"I could hardly forgive my brother for buying such a house if he hadn't——-"
"Left it to your son," interrupted her husband.