"I think I might have been informed of this before," observed Mrs. Ryle.
"It has not been told to any one. Uncle Rupert and I, George and Maude have kept the secret between us. Only think, Aunt Ryle! that after all the hopes, contentions, heart-burnings, George Ryle should succeed to Trevlyn Hold."
She could not bear this repeated harping on the one string. George's conduct to his step-mother had been exemplary, and she was not insensible to the fact; but she was one of those second wives who feel an instinctive dislike to their step-children. Very bitter, for Treve's sake, was her heart-jealousy now.
"I will come in and see you another day, Rupert," she said, rising abruptly. "This morning I am too vexed to remain longer."
"What has vexed you, Aunt Ryle?"
"I hoped that Treve—failing you—would have been the heir."
Rupert opened his eyes in wonder. "Treve?—whilst Maude lives! Not he. I can tell you what I think, Aunt Ryle; that had there been no Maude, Treve would never have come in for the Hold. I don't fancy Uncle Rupert would have left it to him."
"To whom would he have left it, do you fancy?"
"Well—I suppose," slowly turning the matter over in his mind—"I suppose, in that case, it would have been Aunt Diana. But there is Maude, Aunt Ryle, and we need not discuss it. George and Maude will have it, and their children after them."
"Poor boy!" she said, with a touch of compassion; "it is a sad fate for you! Not to live to inherit!"