Lady Chandos had been coming down that day, they said; but the news had stopped it, and she would not now be seen until the morrow. The morning went on. Two official-looking people came, gentlemen, and were taken by Dr. Laken to the west wing. I gathered that it had something to do with identification, in case there should be any doubt afterwards of the death: both of them had known George Heneage in the days gone by.
The blinds were down throughout the house. Every room was dull. Madame de Mellissie evidently found it so, and came in listlessly to the oak-parlour. She seemed very cross: perhaps at seeing her brother there; but he had only come to it a minute before.
"Harry, I suppose Chandos will be looking up again, and taking its part in county gaieties after awhile—as it never has done yet?"
"Yes," he answered; "after a while."
"It would not be a bad plan for me to reside here occasionally as its mistress. Mamma goes back to the old Heneage homestead: she always intended to do so, if this crisis came in poor George's life, leaving you here to manage the estate for Thomas. And now it is yours, to manage for yourself. What changes!"
"Changes indeed! I wish I could be the manager for him still."
"You will want a mistress for it; and I shall be glad to escape at times from home. I get sick and tired of Paris."
"Many thanks, Emily, but the future mistress of Chandos is already bespoken."
Her fair face flushed; and there was a very tart ring in her voice when she spoke again.
"Do you forget that your position is changed? When you gave me that hint last evening, you were, comparatively speaking, an obscure individual; now you are Sir Harry Chandos, a powerful and very wealthy baronet."