“Estate there is none, certainly,” returned the major, in a tone of a little disappointment, “except the twenty-five thousand pounds; unless you include that which you possess where you are; not insignificant, by the way, sir.”

“It will do well enough for old Hugh Willoughby, late a captain in His Majesty’s 23d Regiment of Foot, but not so well for Sir Hugh.  No, no, Bob.  Let the baronetcy sleep awhile; it has been used quite enough for the last hundred years or more.  Out of this circle, there are probably not ten persons in America, who know that I have any claims to it.”

The major coloured, and he played with the spoon of his empty cup, stealing a glance or two around, before he answered.

“I beg your pardon, Sir Hugh—­my dear father, I mean—­but—­to own the truth, never anticipating such a decision on your part, I have spoken of the thing to a good many friends—­I dare say, if the truth were known, I’ve called you the baronet, or Sir Hugh, to others, at least a dozen times.”

“Well, should it be so, the thing will be forgotten.  A parson can be unfrocked, Woods, and a baronet can be unbaroneted, I suppose.”

“But, Sir William”—­so everybody called the well-known Sir William Johnson, in the colony of New York—­“But, Sir William found it useful, Willoughby, and so, I dare say, will his son and successor, Sir John,” observed the attentive wife and anxious mother; “and if you are not now in the army, Bob is.  It will be a good thing for our son one day, and ought not to be lost.”

“Ah, I see how it is, Beulah; your mother has no notion to lose the right of being called Lady Willoughby.”

“I am sure my mother, sir, wishes to be called nothing that does not become your wife; if you remain Mr. Hugh Willoughby, she will remain Mrs. Hugh Willoughby.  But papa, it might be useful to Bob.”

Beulah was a great favourite with the captain, Maud being only his darling; he listened always to whatever the former said, therefore, with indulgence and respect.  He often told the chaplain that his daughter Beulah had the true feelings of her sex, possessing a sort of instinct for whatever was right and becoming, in woman.

“Well, Bob may have the baronetcy, then,” he said, smiling.  “Major Sir Robert Willoughby will not sound amiss in a despatch.”

“But, Bob cannot have it, father,” exclaimed Maud—­“No one can have it but you; and it’s a pity it should be lost.”

“Let him wait, then, until I am out of the way; when he may claim his own.”

“Can that be done?” inquired the mother, to whom nothing was without interest that affected her children.  “How is it, Mr. Woods?—­ may a title be dropped, and then picked up again?—­how is this, Robert?”

“I believe it may, my dear mother—­it will always exist, so long as there is an heir, and my father’s disrelish for it will not be binding on me.”