Mrs. Fitzgerald sat down, the paper rustling nervously in her hand. She cleared her throat and began.
"You remember the story I told you about my cousin, Lady Putnam, and her son?"
"Yes, mamma," Geraldine replied, again, meekly, and the lady continued:
"I have not heard from my cousin for several years, and I have just read in the telegraphic news from abroad that her husband, Lord Randolph Putnam, is dead."
"I am very sorry," Geraldine answered, gravely.
"Oh, as to him, it doesn't matter much. He was an old man, gouty and disagreeable," replied Mrs. Fitzgerald, frankly, adding: "The interest of the matter centres in his son and heir—Leland, now Lord Putnam—your betrothed! I was surprised to read here that several years ago the old lord and his son had a bitter quarrel—so bitter that the heir was driven from home, and vowed that he would never return while his father lived. He went to America, and all trace of him was lost. Now there is a great hue and cry for him everywhere, for he is wanted to return and assume his rank and estate. But, of course, he will be found, as missing people always come back when they inherit money."
[CHAPTER XLII.]
"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I HATE TO RAKE UP THE ASHES OF THE PAST."