"Who was he?—I never heard of him." And, with the words, Hester carelessly turned her head to look at a squirrel that had run across the glade and was now peeping at the pair from the first fork of an oak tree.
"My uncle? Well, he was an awfully fine fellow—whatever Meynell may say. If the Abbey wasn't taboo, I could show you a portrait of him there—by a Frenchman—that's a superb thing. He was the best fencer in England—and one of the best shots. He had a beautiful voice—he could write—he could do anything he pleased. Of course he got into scrapes—such men do—and if Richard ever talked to you about him, of course he'd crab him. All the same, if one must be like one's relations—which is, of course, quite unnecessary—I should prefer to take after Neville than after Richard."
"What was his name?"
"Neville—Sir Neville Flood." Hester looked puzzled.
"Well!—if you want the whole genealogical tree, here it is: There was a certain Ralph Flood, my grandfather, an old hunting squire, a regular bad lot! Oh! I can tell you the family history doesn't give me much chance! He came from Lincolnshire originally, having made the county there too hot to hold him, and bought the Abbey, which he meant to restore and never did. He worried his wife into her grave, and she left him three children: Neville, who succeeded his father; and two daughters—Meynell's mother, who was a good deal older than Neville and married Colonel Meynell, as he was then; and my mother, who was much the youngest, and died three years ago. She was Neville's favourite sister, and as he knew Richard didn't want the Abbey, he left it to me. A precious white elephant—not worth a fiver to anybody. I was only thirteen when Neville was drowned—"
"Drowned?"
Meryon explained that Neville Flood had lost his life in a storm on an Irish lough; a queer business, which no one had ever quite got to the bottom of. Many people had talked of suicide. There was no doubt he was in very low spirits just before it happened. He was unhappily married, mainly through his own fault. His wife could certainly have got a divorce from him if she had applied for it. But very soon after she separated from Flood she became a Catholic, and nothing would induce her to divorce him. And against her there was never a breath. It was said of course that he was in love with some one else, and broken-hearted that his wife refused to lend herself to a divorce. But nobody knew anything.
"And, by Jove, I wonder why I'm telling you all these shady tales. You oughtn't to know anything about such things," Meryon broke off suddenly.
Hester's beautiful mouth made a scornful movement.
"I'm not a baby—and I intend to know what's true. I should like to see that picture."