gh's face was
perfectly calm; he, together with her husband, was sitting with his eyes
fixed in the direction of the sideboard; and turning to the same spot she
beheld Chickerel standing pale as death, his lips being parted as if he
did not know where he was.

'Did you speak?' said Mrs. Doncastle, looking with astonishment at the
butler.

'Chickerel, what's the matter--are you ill?' said Mr. Doncastle
simultaneously. 'Was it you who said that?'

'I did, sir,' said Chickerel in a husky voice, scarcely above a whisper.
'I could not help it.'

'Why?'

'She is my daughter, and it shall be known at once!'

'Who is your daughter?'

He paused a few moments nervously. 'Mrs. Petherwin,' he said.

Upon this announcement Neigh looked at poor Chickerel as if he saw
through him into the wall. Mrs. Doncastle uttered a faint exclamation
and leant back in her chair: the bare possibility of the truth of
Chickerel's claims to such paternity shook her to pieces when she viewed
her intimacies with Ethelberta during the past season--the court she had
paid her, the arrangements she had entered into to please her; above all,
the dinner-party which she had contrived and carried out solely to
gratify Lord Mountclere and bring him into personal communication with
the general favourite; thus making herself probably the chief though
unconscious instrument in promoting a match by which her butler was to
become father-in-law to a peer she delighted to honour. The crowd of
perceptions almost took away her life; she closed her eyes in a white
shiver.

'Do you mean to say that the lady who sat here at dinner at the same time
that Lord Mountclere was present, is your daughter?' asked Doncastle.

'Yes, sir,' said Chickerel respectfully.

'How did she come to be your daughter?'

'I-- Well, she is my daughter, sir.'

'Did you educate her?'

'Not altogether, sir. She was a very clever child. Lady Petherwin took
a deal of trouble about her education. They were both left widows about
the same time: the son died, then the father. My daughter was only
seventeen then. But though she's older now, her marriage with Lord
Mountclere means misery. He ought to marry another woman.'

'It is very extraordinary,' Mr. Doncastle murmured. 'If you are ill you
had better go and rest yourself, Chickerel. Send in Thomas.'

Chickerel, who seemed to be much disturbed, then very gladly left the
room, and dinner proceeded. But such was the peculi