It was a cosy conversation which the ladies enjoyed after this.  Any conversation would be cosy that had been reared in the glory of such a garden, and in the comfort of those lazy chairs.  Mrs. Pennybet began by declaring, as these shameless ladies do, that her hostess’s fair-haired nephew was quite the most beautiful child she had ever seen; she could hug him all day; nay, she could eat him.  And, thereupon Lady Gray told her the whole story of Edgar Gray Doe; how his mother had been Sir Peter’s sister, and the loveliest woman in Western Cornwall; how she had paid with her life for Edgar’s being; and how her husband, the chief of lovers, had quickly followed his young bride.

“They’re an emotional lot, these Does,” said Lady Gray.  “As surely as they come fair-haired, they are brilliantly romantic and blindly adoring.  And Edgar’s every inch a Doe.  Anybody can lead him into mischief.  And anybody who likes will do so.”

“Oh, I suppose he’s troublesome like all boys,” suggested Mrs. Pennybet, with a rapid mental survey of the existence of Archie.  “He will grow into a fine man some day.”

“Perhaps,” said Lady Gray, staring over the tranquil water of the Fal, as though it represented the intervening years.  “We shall see.”

“And Archie,” continued Mrs. Pennybet, “though he’s a plague now, will be a brilliant and dominating man, I think.  He’s not easily mastered, and I don’t believe adverse circumstances will ever beat him....  Isn’t it funny to think that these restless boys are here to inherit the world?  We old fogies”—­Mrs. Pennybet laughed, for she didn’t mean what she said—­“are really done for and shelved.  These boys are the interesting ones, whose tales have yet to be told.”

The speaker dropped her voice, as she found herself moralising; and Lady Gray perceived that an atmosphere of tender speculation had risen around their conversation.  She turned her face away, and looked over that part of the inheritable world which met her gaze.  From her feet perfect lawns sloped down to a gracious waterway, which shuddered occasionally in a gentle wind; on every side pleasing trees were massed into shady and grateful woods; overhead the noonday sun lit up a deep-blue sky.  Perhaps the sublimity of the scene played upon her softer emotions.  Perhaps all intense beauty is pathetic, and makes one think of poor illusions and unavailing dreams.  Lady Gray wondered why she could not feel, on this serene morning, the same confidence in Edgar Doe’s future, as her friend felt in Archie’s; why she should rather be conscious of a romantic foreboding.  But she only murmured: 

“Yes, we must bow before sovereign youth.”

And that was the last word uttered, till the sound of hearty boys’ voices, coming from the trunks of the trees, prompted Mrs. Pennybet to say cheerfully: 

“Here they come, the heirs to the world.”

As she spoke, Archie Pennybet, dark and dictatorial, and Edgar Doe, fair and enthusiastic, came into view.