"'A noticeable man,' eh, Waveney? 'with large grey eyes?'" Then Waveney blushed and laughed.
"What a perfidious Mollie! But, father, it is really such a true description! Mr. Chaytor is quite plain and ordinary-looking, and he is old, too,—five-and-thirty, I should say; but when he speaks you would never call him plain."
"No, I know what you mean. But his brother Tristram was a very handsome man."
"Did you know them well, father?"
"Very well, indeed. The Chaytors lived at the old Manor House—their grandfather had bought it. It was a fine old place, about two miles from Kitlands, and when I visited them they lived in good style and entertained largely. Old Chaytor, as we called him, was fond of life and gaiety; though we youngsters knew little about it, he kept racers, and about the time I married, his losses were so heavy that they could no longer afford to live in the old Manor House."
"Were there only those two brothers, father, dear?"
"No, there was a sister Joanna—Joa they called her—a pretty, fair girl; she and Althea were great friends. She was engaged to Leslie Parker. The Parkers were neighbours of theirs; they lived in a quaint old house in the village, called The Knolls, but I heard afterwards that, when the old Manor House was sold, and Mr. Chaytor died, the marriage was broken off. I never cared much for the Parkers; they were a mercenary lot. All the sons married women with money. But it was hard lines on poor little Joa."
"Oh, father, how dreadfully interesting all this is! I do so love ancient history."
"It was by no means interesting for the Chaytors," returned Mr. Ward, with a laugh. "Old Chaytor's love for the turf ruined them. When he died, his sons found that his affairs were hopelessly involved, and that he had left heavy debts. I had lost sight of them by that time; but I heard a year or two afterwards that Mrs. Chaytor was dead, too, and that Tristram had gone to New Zealand. Rumour said that he had turned out unsatisfactorily, and that his brother had shipped him off, but I know nothing more."
"Neither do I, except they are living in a dull-looking house in Dereham." And then Mollie limped in with the tea-tray, and Noel followed, carrying a huge plum cake on his head, like one of the black slaves in the "Arabian Nights." And then, as he made an obeisance like Lord Bateman's "proud young porter," it rolled to his feet; after which Mollie boxed his ears, and his father called him a young ass.