She went up at last to her room doubting, unhappy and ill at ease.  To have such a secret long kept from her mother would make her life unendurable to her.  But she felt that, in speaking to her mother, only one aspect of the affair would be possible.  Even though she loved him, how could she marry a curate whose only income was seventy pounds a year?

Chapter XXVIII

The Russian Spy

When the baby died at Clavering Park, somebody hinted that Sir Hugh would certainly quarrel with his brother as soon as Archie should become the father of a presumptive heir to the title and property.  That such would be the case those who best knew Sir Hugh would not doubt.  That Archie should have that of which he himself had been robbed, would of itself be enough to make him hate Archie.  But, nevertheless, at this present time, he continued to instigate his brother in that matter of the proposed marriage with Lady Ongar.  Hugh, as well as others, felt that Archie’s prospects were now improved, and that he could demand the hand of a wealthy lady with more of seeming propriety than would have belonged to such a proposition while the poor child was living.  No one would understand this better than Lady Ongar, who knew so well all the circumstances of the family.  The day after the funeral the two brothers returned to London together, and Hugh spoke his mind in the railway carriage.  “It will be no good for you to hang on about Bolton Street, off and on, as though she were a girl of seventeen,” he said.

“I’m quite up to that,” said Archie.  “I must let her know I’m there, of course.  I understand all that.”

“Then why don’t you do it?  I thought you meant to go to her at once when we were talking about it before in London.”

“So I did go to her, and got on with her very well, too, considering that I hadn’t been there long when another woman came.”

“But you didn’t tell her what you had come about?”

“No; not exactly.  You see it doesn’t do to pop at once to a widow like her.  Ongar, you know, hasn’t been dead six months.  One has to be a little delicate in these things.”

“Believe me, Archie, you had better give up all notions of being delicate, and tell her what you want at once—­plainly and fairly.  You may be sure that she will not think of her former husband, if you don’t.”

“Oh!  I don’t think about him at all.”

“Who was the woman you say was there?”

“That little Frenchwoman—­the sister of the man—­Sophie she calls her.  Sophie Gordeloup is her name.  They are bosom friends.”

“The sister of that count?”

“Yes; his sister.  Such a woman for talking!  She said ever so much about your keeping Hermione down in the country.”

“The devil she did.  What business was that of hers?  That is Julia’s doing.”

“Well; no, I don’t think so.  Julia didn’t say a word about it.  In fact, I don’t know how it came up.  But you never heard such a woman to talk—­an ugly, old, hideous little creature!  But the two are always together.”