After talking with my uncle and my cousins a few minutes, I said:  “I have had a long ride and want a good supper Come, Frances, let us go out and buy all the good things in Sundridge.”

Sir Richard said nothing, and a faint shadow of humiliation came to Frances’s face, but practical Sarah settled the question by saying:—­

“Go with him, Frances, and see that he buys enough.  You know we have had barely a crust in the house the last fortnight, and not a farthing in all that time with which to buy one.  We have a warm welcome for you, Baron Ned, but welcome after a long ride is a mere appetizer.  I’ll fetch a basket—­yes, two!”

The name “Baron Ned” was a heritage from the days of my childhood, and doubtless it will cling to me till the day of my death.  I have never objected to it on the lips of my friends, but rather, have always liked it.

Sarah’s good common sense set us all laughing, and when she brought in two large baskets, Frances and I went forth to buy our supper.

When we were a short way from the house, I said:  “I’ve come to spend several days with you, my cousin-sister.  Are you not delighted?”

“Yes,” she answered, cordially enough, but without the old-time gladness in her manner.

“And my purpose in coming concerns you,” I continued.

She started perceptibly and blushed, but after a moment brought herself together and asked laughingly:—­

“You don’t want to marry me, brother Ned?”

“No, no,” I answered.  “We’re far too dear to each other to spoil it all by marriage, and my station in life, to say nothing of my small estate, is in no way up to your value.  It would not be a fair exchange.  Your husband shall be at least a duke, with not less than forty thousand pounds a year.  That, by the way, is a part of my mission in Sundridge.  No, no, I do not bring an offer!” I said, hastily, noticing that she drew away from me in her manner, “I simply hope to pave the way to such an offer some time in the future, and want to warn you against doing anything that might forestall good fortune.”

I had hardly finished speaking when her manner of drawing away became so pronounced that I feared I might lose my race by going too fast, so I quickly sought to right myself by saying with marked emphasis:—­

“I am not going to pry into your affairs.”

A telltale blush came to her cheek as she interrupted me with a touch of warmth:  “I have no affairs.”

“I am sure you have not,” I answered soothingly, “though a girl as beautiful as you are is sure to attract men, and is quite as sure to have little affairs.  But they are of no more importance than a laugh and a sigh.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  Of no importance—­not the least,” she answered, blushing exquisitely, and unconsciously telling me there was an affair.

“No, no,” I continued earnestly.  “I do not want to pry.  I am simply going to suggest a project which perhaps you may turn to your advantage.  Marriage has no part in it save that the greatest good fortune that can befall a woman is to marry well, which I hope will be the ultimate result of what I shall propose.  If a young woman’s friends do not put her in a position to marry the right sort of a man, they fail in their duty to her.”