“I don’t think it will interfere with Mrs. Parke’s rest,” said Lord Frogmore, calmly. “And I saw no harm in the Australian. Will you tell me what the boys are doing who have done so well?”
He listened with great interest while Mary, with a brightened countenance and many smiles, made him aware of the successes of “the boys.” They were not very great successes from Lord Frogmore’s point of view, but he listened as if he had been hearing of bishoprics and woolsacks, while Mary told of the advantages of John, who was in New Zealand, and George, who was farming in Canada, and the missionary who had won golden opinions, if not joys, in Africa, and the soldier, who was in India with his regiment, but could not afford to come home because of the lessened pay. They were all “abroad” for it was so difficult to get things at home, but all so approved, so well spoken of, so thoroughly satisfactory! It went to the old lord’s heart to see her face of exultation, her happy pride in her family. “Perhaps you will think it is nasty of me to rejoice so over them, when there is poor Ralph so different,” said Mary, “but of course there was a great, a very great, difference in their upbringing, though that doesn’t always tell, as perhaps you know, Lord Frogmore.”
“Indeed I do know: sometimes the most carefully trained go astray. I have known many instances.”
“And the most neglected,” cried Mary, “whom nobody could have expected anything from, sometimes turn out so well! So that shows it is individual—it is in them, whatever may be their education. Ah, here we are,” she said, suddenly, with a calming down which was very evident from the fervor of her previous tone, “at Marsham Ponds.” One would have said Mary was disappointed to find herself so soon at the end of her walk.
Marsham Ponds were a series of fishponds, a trace of the old time, when a great abbey had stood near, and the supply of fish for Lenten fare was a pressing necessity which had to be provided for. “I think I must turn back now,” said Mary, “you will find your way quite easily, Lord Frogmore.”
“Stop a little; we may as well return together. I wanted the walk, not to see the ponds. I have seen them often before,” said Lord Frogmore. “We lived at Greenpark in the old days when I was a child—if you can suppose I ever was a child.” He laughed and paused a little, then resumed, “I remember—it must be about a hundred years ago—my father bringing me here when he came to the title. He succeeded his grandfather you may have heard. He brought me here, and lifted me up to see the view. It’s not much of a view,” said Lord Frogmore, in a parenthesis, “but seen in one particular light it is not without interest. He said to me, ‘Look there, Duke, that’s all ours——’” Here he paused again, looked over the wide landscape, which was flat and fell away into long blue depths of distance, and then burst into a laugh. “That is what John will be saying to another little Duke one of these days. They are both quite primed for it,” he said.
“Oh, Lord Frogmore, not Mr. Parke—that is not in his thoughts.”
The old lord turned round upon her with a little moisture in the corner of his eye. He put out his hand to her hastily, “Thank you, Miss Hill. I think you are right. My brother is free from such thoughts.”
“Nobody has any such thoughts,” said Mary, but not in the same assured tone.
He shook his head and looked at her smiling, “Not after what your friend said—that all I had belonged to the children, every penny—that it was their right. Mrs. Parke was very explicit, Miss Hill.”