“What is the girl like?” my brother asked.

“Charming!” I answered.  “I am writing Aunt Mary to invite her down to Feltham.  The difficulty seems to be to get hold of Delora.”

“So you’ve written Aunt Mary, eh?” Ralph remarked, looking up at me.  “Austen, I believe you’re gone on the girl!”

“I believe I am,” I admitted equably.  “So would you be if you saw her.”

Ralph half closed his eyes for a moment.  It was a clumsy speech of mine!

“Seriously, Austen,” he continued, a few moments later, “have you ever thought of marrying?”

“Equally seriously, Ralph,” I answered, “not until I met Felicia Delora.”

“Felicia Delora!” my brother repeated.  “It’s a pretty name, at any rate.  I suppose I must go and see her myself.”

“Wait for a day or two, Ralph,” I begged.  “She is a little upset just now.  Her uncle seems to be neglecting her for some precious scheme of his.”

“I wonder if, by any chance, you are in earnest, Austen?” my brother asked.

“I should not be surprised,” I admitted.

“It’s an interesting subject, you know,” Ralph continued gravely.  “Considering my accident, and other things which we need not allude to, I think we may take it for granted that there’s no chance of my ever having an heir.  It’s our duty to look ahead a little, you know, Austen.  There isn’t any manner of doubt that some time between now and the next ten years you will have to take up my place.  I only hope you won’t make such a hash of it.”

“Don’t talk rubbish, Ralph!” I answered.

“It isn’t rubbish,” he said firmly.  “You go and talk to my doctor if you don’t believe me.  However, I hadn’t meant to say anything about this to-night.  Your mentioning the girl put it into my head.  I want you, of course, to know that I am not forgetful of my responsibilities.  Your two thousand a year may do you very well as a bachelor, but you are heir apparent to the title now, and if you should think of marrying, the Fakenham estates are yours, and the house.  They bring in between six and seven thousand a year, I think,—­never less.”

“It’s very good of you, Ralph,—­” I began.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” he answered.  “It’s your rightful position.  The Fakenham estates have been held by the heir apparent for generations.  Tell me a little about this Miss Delora.”

“I’ll bring her to see you presently, Ralph,” I answered.

“You are in earnest, then?” he remarked, with a smile.

“I believe so,” I answered.

He looked at me once more, searchingly.

“There is something on your mind, Austen,” he said,—­“something bothering you.  I believe it is about these Deloras, too.  Is there something about them which you can’t understand, eh?”

“There is, Ralph,” I admitted.  “You saw what Dicky said.  They are people of consequence in their own country, at any rate, yet over here the man seems to behave like a hunted criminal.”