“And I am an old woman,” said Lady Mildred: “I may die any day. Don’t be afraid to speak out, Mr Miller. You are thinking of what will become of the property if all General Osbert’s family thus comes to an end.”
“Yes,” said Mr Miller quietly, “I am. Not what will become of it, but what should. I have much to explain to you, which I do not think you have ever thoroughly understood, indeed I have not always thoroughly understood it myself. There were some things wrongly done when the property last changed hands—not so much illegally as unfairly and unkindly.”
“You mean to say when my husband’s branch of it came into possession,” said Lady Mildred hastily. “I will listen to no blame of him, Mr Miller.”
Mr Miller smiled a little.
“I do not ask you to do so, Lady Mildred,” he said. “Mr Osbert was misinformed and prejudiced; and there was foolish pride on the other side—reluctance to explain things properly. I blame the old squire’s sister, the late Mrs Waldron, for this, though she was an admirable woman. If you will allow me, I will go over the whole with you, and explain exactly the present position of things.”
Lady Mildred was closeted with Mr Miller for a long time that morning. When he at last left and Claudia rejoined her, the girl saw that she was grave and thoughtful, but not restless or uneasy.
“Mr Miller had melancholy news to give me, Claudia,” she said; “my husband’s nephew, General Osbert’s son, is dead. It is very, very sad for them.” Claudia’s bright face shadowed over.
“Have they no other children?”
“It is not ‘they’—the old man is a widower. Yes; he has one other son, but he is frightfully delicate,” and Lady Mildred sighed. “I have a good deal on my mind, my dear. I don’t quite see what to do. What should you say to our going abroad; I may have to see the General on business matters.”
“I should like it, of course,” said Claudia; “especially if—please don’t think me selfish—if I could go on with my lessons.”