not Florence be transferred with the remainder of the property?  There was something to Mrs. Mountjoy’s feelings base in the idea at the first blush of it.  She did not like to be untrue to her gallant nephew.  But as she came to turn it in her mind there were certain circumstances which recommended the change to her—­should the change be necessary.  Florence certainly had expressed an unintelligible objection to the elder brother.  Why should the younger not be more successful?  Mrs. Mountjoy’s heart had begun to droop within her as she had thought that her girl would prove deaf to the voice of the charmer.  Another charmer had come, most objectionable in her sight, but to him no word of absolute encouragement had, as she thought, been yet spoken.  Augustus had already obtained for himself among his friends the character of an eloquent young lawyer.  Let him come and try his eloquence on his cousin,—­only let it first be ascertained, as an assured fact, and beyond the possibility of all retrogression, that the squire’s villainy was certain.

“I think, my love,” she said to her daughter one day, “that, under the immediate circumstances of the family, we should retire for a while into private life.”  This occurred on the very day on which Septimus Jones had been vaguely informed of the iniquitous falsehood of Harry Annesley.

“Good gracious, mamma, is not our life always private?” She had understood it all,—­that the private life was intended altogether to exclude Harry, but was to be made open to the manoeuvres of her cousin, such as they might be.

“Not in the sense in which I mean.  Your poor uncle is dying.”

“We hear that Sir William says he is better.”

“I fear, nevertheless, that he is dying,—­though it may, perhaps, take a long time.  And then poor Mountjoy has disappeared.  I think that we should see no one till the mystery about Mountjoy has been cleared up.  And then the story is so very discreditable.”

“I do not see that that is an affair of ours,” said Florence, who had no desire to be shut up just at the present moment.

“We cannot help ourselves.  This making his eldest son out to be—­oh, something so very different—­is too horrible to be thought of.  I am told that nobody knows the truth.”

“We at any rate are not implicated in that.”

“But we are.  He at any rate is my brother, and Mountjoy is my nephew,—­or at any rate was.  Poor Augustus is thrown into terrible difficulties.”

“I am told that he is greatly pleased at finding that Tretton is to belong to him.”

“Who tells you that?  You have no right to believe anything about such near relatives from any one.  Whoever told you so has been very wicked.”  Mrs. Mountjoy no doubt thought that this wicked communication had been made by Harry Annesley.  “Augustus has always proved himself to be affectionate and respectful to his elder brother, that is, to his brother who is—­is older than himself,” added Mrs. Mountjoy, feeling that there was a difficulty in expressing herself as to the presumed condition of the two Scarboroughs, “Of course he would rather be owner of Tretton than let any one else have it, if you mean that.  The honor of the family is very much to him.”