“Don’t you be so sure,” said Marcella, laughing.  “Mr. Craven has all sorts of ideas.”

“Who’s Mr. Craven?”

“Didn’t you meet him at my rooms?”

“Oh!  I remember,” ejaculated the boy—­“a frightful Socialist!”

“And his wife’s worse,” said Marcella, merrily.  “They’ve come down to settle here.  They’re going to help me.”

“Then for mercy’s sake keep them to yourself,” cried Frank, “and don’t let them go loose over the county.  We don’t want them at our place.”

“Oh! your turn will come.  Lord Maxwell”—­her tone changed—­became shy and a little grave.  “Shall we go into the Stone Parlour?  My mother will come down if you wish to see her, but she thought that—­that—­perhaps we could settle things.”

Aldous had been standing by, hat in hand, watching her as she chattered to Frank.  As she addressed him he gave a little start.

“Oh!  I think we can settle everything,” he said.

“Well, this is rum!” said Frank to himself, as the door closed behind them, and instead of betaking himself to the chair and the newspaper with which Marcella had provided him, he began to walk excitedly up and down.  “Her father makes him executor—­he manages her property for her—­and they behave nicely to each other, as though nothing had ever happened at all.  What the deuce does it mean?  And all the time Betty—­why, Betty’s devoted to him!—­and it’s as plain as a pikestaff what that old cat, Miss Raeburn, is thinking of from morning till night!  Well, I’m beat!”

And throwing himself down on a stool by the fire, his chin between his hands, he stared dejectedly at the burning logs.

CHAPTER V.

Meanwhile Marcella and her companion were sitting in the Stone Parlour side by side, save for a small table between them, which held the various papers Aldous had brought with him.  At first, there had been on her side—­as soon as they were alone—­a feeling of stifling embarrassment.  All the painful, proud sensations with which she had received the news of her father’s action returned upon her; she would have liked to escape; she shrank from what once more seemed an encroachment, a situation as strange as it was embarrassing.

But his manner very soon made it impossible, indeed ridiculous, to maintain such an attitude of mind.  He ran through his business with his usual clearness and rapidity.  It was not complicated; her views proved to be the same as his; and she was empowered to decide for her mother.  Aldous took notes of one or two of her wishes, left some papers with her for her mother’s signature, and then his work was practically done.  Nothing, throughout, could have been more reassuring or more everyday than his demeanour.