‘My uncle is very fond of you,’ said the girl, ‘and very kind to you—kinder than you deserve, most people think.’
‘Your uncle!’ repeated the boy. ‘Which of ’em?’
‘Lord Kilpatrick, of course!’
‘Indeed he is, then! He’s been as good as a father to me nearly all my life. I owe to him all I have and all I am.’
‘Tell me, Desmond,’ said the girl, after another short interval of silence, ‘why does Lord Kilpatrick take so great an interest in you, and yet let you run about like—like a young colt? Isn’t it time that you began to take life seriously, and to think of doing something?’
‘Faith, I suppose it is,’ said Desmond. ‘I’ve been trying for the last six months to find what kind o’ life I’m fit for. I’ll take to something by-and-by. As to why Lord Kilpatrick’s so good to me, you know just as much as I know myself, Lady Dulcie; Mr. Peebles, that knows more of his ways than anybody else, says ’tis to aise his conscience.’
‘To ease his conscience?’ the girl repeated.
‘Just that,’ said Desmond. ‘An old debt he owed and never paid till my parents were dead. ’Twas my mother asked him to pay it by looking after me. He promised, and he’s kept his word—more power to him.’
‘Do you remember your parents?’
‘No. Both died before I could run about. They were gentlefolk, I suppose, or I’d not be called the Squireen, and I’ve the true gentlemanly knack o’ getting into scrapes. But let’s talk of something else, Lady Dulcie; ’tis a subject that always makes me sad.’