A couple of minutes afterwards a tall, shapely young man, of about twenty-four or five years of age, came strolling into the office where Mr. Quest was sitting, to all appearance hard at work at his correspondence.  He was dark in complexion and decidedly distinguished-looking in feature, with large dark eyes, dark moustachios, and a pale, somewhat Spanish-looking skin.  Young as the face was, it had, if observed closely, a somewhat worn and worried air, such as one would scarcely expect to see upon the countenance of a gentleman born to such brilliant fortunes, and so well fitted by nature to do them justice, as was Mr. Edward Cossey.  For it is not every young man with dark eyes and a good figure who is destined to be the future head of one of the most wealthy private banks in England, and to inherit in due course a sum of money in hard cash variously estimated at from half a million to a million sterling.  This, however, was the prospect in life that opened out before Mr. Edward Cossey, who was now supposed by his old and eminently business-like father to be in process of acquiring a sound knowledge of the provincial affairs of the house by attending to the working of their branch establishments in the Eastern counties.

“How do you do, Quest?” said Edward Cossey, nodding somewhat coldly to the lawyer and sitting down.  “Any business?”

“Well, yes, Mr. Cossey,” answered the lawyer, rising respectfully, “there is some business, some very serious business.”

“Indeed,” said Edward indifferently, “what is it?”

“Well, it is this, the house has ordered a foreclosure on the Honham Castle estates—­at least it comes to that——­”

On hearing this intelligence Edward Cossey’s whole demeanour underwent the most startling transformation—­his languor vanished, his eye brightened, and his form became instinct with active life and beauty.

“What the deuce,” he said, and then paused.  “I won’t have it,” he went on, jumping up, “I won’t have it.  I am not particularly fond of old de la Molle, perhaps because he is not particularly fond of me,” he added rather drolly, “but it would be an infernal shame to break up that family and sell the house over them.  Why they would be ruined!  And then there’s Ida—­Miss de la Molle, I mean—­what would become of her?  And the old place too.  After being in the family for all these centuries I suppose that it would be sold to some confounded counter-skipper or some retired thief of a lawyer.  It must be prevented at any price—­do you hear, Quest?”

The lawyer winced a little at his chief’s contemptuous allusion, and then remarked with a smile, “I had no idea that you were so sentimental, Mr. Cossey, or that you took such a lively interest in Miss de la Molle,” and he glanced up to observe the effect of his shot.

Edward Cossey coloured.  “I did not mean that I took any particular interest in Miss de la Molle,” he said, “I was referring to the family.”