there was something up when George
wasn't at home to meet me."

"He is coming."

"He may stay away if he likes it. I don't want him. He won't have the
courage to tell me up to my face that he doesn't intend to acknowledge
my boy. He's too great a coward for that."

"I'm sure it's not George, Brotherton."

"Who is it, then?"

"Perhaps it's the Dean."

"D---- his impudence. How on earth among you could you let George marry
the daughter of a low-bred ruffian like that,--a man that never ought
to have been allowed to put his foot inside the house?"

"She had such a very nice fortune! And then he wanted to marry that
scheming girl, Adelaide De Baron,--without a penny."

"The De Barons, at any rate, are gentlefolk. If the Dean meddles with
me, he shall find that he has got the wrong sow by the ear. If he puts
his foot in the park again I'll have him warned off as a trespasser."

"But you'll see Mr. Holdenough?"

"I don't want to see anybody. I mean to hold my own, and do as I please
with my own, and live as I like, and toady no one. What can I have in
common with an old parson like that?"

"You'll let me see Popenjoy, Brotherton?"

"Yes," he said, pausing a moment before he answered her. "He shall be
brought here, and you shall see him. But mind, mother, I shall expect
you to tell me all that you hear."

"Indeed, I will."

"You will not rebel against me, I suppose."

"Oh, no;--my son, my son!" Then she fell upon his neck, and he suffered
it for a minute, thinking it wise to make sure of one ally in that
house.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MARQUIS SEES HIS BROTHER.

When Lord George was summoned down to Manor Cross,--or rather, to Cross
Hall, he did not dare not to go. Lady Sarah had told him that it was
his duty, and he could not deny the assertion. But he was very angry
with his brother, and did not in the least wish to see him. Nor did he
think that by seeing him he could in any degree render easier that
horrible task which would, sooner or later, be imposed upon him, of
testing the legitimacy of his brother's child. And there were other
reasons which made him unwilling to leave London. He did not like to be
away from his young wife. She was, of course, a matron now, and
entitled to be left alone, according to the laws of the world; but then
she was so childish, and so fond of playing bagatelle with Jack De
Baron! He had never had occasion to find fault with her; not to say
words to her which he him