“Is it that my heart is dead?” he sadly asked himself, “or is it because I am so old and have gone through so much, that only the ghost of either joy or sorrow will ever keep me company again? Or is it,” he went on, “because in this youth who has so suddenly intruded himself into my life I can discern nothing that serves to recall his father to memory, nor any likeness, however vague, to any of my pictured ancestors in the long gallery—who are his ancestors also—that I seem in no way drawn towards him? I cannot tell why it is so. I only know that it is.”
In one respect, however, he derived a certain amount of mordant satisfaction from the knowledge that he would now be followed by an heir in the direct line of descent. His detested kinsman, Colonel Eustace Clare, who, he felt sure, never missed a day without hoping it would bring the tidings of his death, would now, at what might be termed the eleventh hour, be baulked of his chance of succession to the title, even as the cutting off of the entail in years gone by had deprived him of all prospect of ever succeeding to the estates.
Monday at noon brought Giovanna and Luigi again to the Chase. Verinder had kept them company as far as Mapleford station, where they all alighted. It had been arranged that he should await, either their return, or the receipt of some message from them, at the railway hotel, it being impossible to say how long Sir Gilbert might choose to detain them. The Captain’s impatience would not admit of his quietly awaiting their return in London.
If Sir Gilbert received his guests without any particular display of cordiality he yet greeted them with a grave and kindly courtesy which went far towards putting them at their ease. For the time the more brusque and imperious traits of his character failed to assert themselves: indeed, no stranger seeing him on this occasion only, would have as much as suspected their existence. To-day he kept the others company at luncheon, although all he partook of was a biscuit and a glass of Madeira. By special invitation Everard Lisle made a fourth at table.
When once Sir Gilbert had made up his mind to acknowledge Giovanna as his daughter-in-law, and Luigi as his grandson, he was not a man to stick at half measures. The acknowledgment should be full and complete, and Everard Lisle was the person he chose to whom first to communicate his intentions, with which purpose in view he invited him to dine at the Chase on Sunday. It was as they sat together after dinner that Sir Gilbert broke his news.
“For the present I shall have the boy to live with me,” he said. “I want us to become better acquainted. My daughter-in-law, if she chooses to do so, can take up her residence at Maylings, the family dower-house, although not used as such in my time, which has stood empty since old Miss Hopkins’s death three years ago. Of course the news that my grandson and his mother have been received and acknowledged by me will very soon get noised abroad, and as you are likely, owing to your being at the Chase so much, to be appealed to on the point by a number of people, I want you to be in a position to confirm the accuracy of the report and to give it the stamp of verity. That all sorts of ridiculous stories will get about, originating in the fact of my grandson’s and daughter-in-law’s existence not having been made public till now, I do not doubt, but with any, or all, such inventions you need have nothing to do. We have simply to deal with the two or three plain facts of the case.”
Thus it fell out that Everard Lisle was already prepared for the meeting on Monday. The baronet introduced him simply as “My secretary, Mr. Lisle.”
As Luigi did not proffer his hand, Everard contented himself by bowing slightly. But Sir Gilbert did not fail to notice the omission.
“Where is your hand, sir?” he demanded of his pseudo grandson with a drawing together of his shaggy brows. “Let me tell you that, young as Mr. Lisle is, I hold him in the highest esteem and regard.”
Luigi smilingly hastened to repair his oversight. He was quick-witted enough in some things. “A favourite, evidently,” he said to himself with an almost imperceptible shrug. “I suppose it will be to my interest to keep in with this fellow for the present, but when it comes to my turn he shall very soon be presented with the order of his going.”