"Oh, I don't say that I am powerless," said Lady Mariamne, with her shrill laugh. "One has one's little ways of influence." Then she put her hand again upon John with a sudden grip. "Mr. Tatham," she said, "tell me, in confidence, was that Phil's boy?"
"I have told you, Lady Mariamne, it is a nephew of mine."
"A nephew—oh, I know what kind of a nephew—à la mode de Bretagne!"
She turned her head to the other side, where her daughter was gazing calmly in front of her.
"Dolly! I was sure of it," she cried, "don't you hear? Dolly, don't you hear?"
"Which, mamma?" said Dolly, gravely; "of course I could not help hearing it all. Which part was I to notice? about the newspapers or about the boy?"
Lady Mariamne appealed to earth and heaven with the loud cackle of her laugh. "He can't deny it," she said; "he as good as owns it. I am certain that's the boy that will be Lomond."
"Uncle St. Serf is not dead yet," said Dolly, reprovingly.
"Poor Serf!—but he's so very bad," said Lady Mariamne, "that it's almost the same thing. Mr. Tatham, can't we take you anywhere? I'm so glad I've seen Nell's boy. Can't we drive you home? Perhaps you've got Nell there too?"
John stood back from the carriage door, just in time to escape the start of the horses as the remorseless string was touched and the footman clambered up into his seat. Lady Mariamne's smile went off her face, and she had forgotten all about it, to judge from appearances, before he had got himself in motion again. And a little farther on, behind the next tree, he found young Philip waiting, full of curiosity and questions.