“What chance do you mean?”

“The chance, dear, of being a lord’s mother.”

He was still puzzled, but he lowered his tone.  The true-born Briton bowed by instinct before the woman who had jilted him, when she presented herself in the character of a lord’s mother.  “How do you make that out, Maria?” he asked politely.

She drew her chair nearer to him, when he called her by her Christian name for the first time.

“When Westerfield was courting me,” she said, “his brother (my lord) was a bachelor.  A lady—­if one can call such a creature a lady!—­was living under his protection.  He told Westerfield he was very fond of her, and he hated the idea of getting married.  ‘If your wife’s first child turns out to be a son,’ he said, ’there is an heir to the title and estates, and I may go on as I am now.’  We were married a month afterward—­and when my first child was born it was a girl.  I leave you to judge what the disappointment was!  My lord (persuaded, as I suspect, by the woman I mentioned just now) ran the risk of waiting another year, and a year afterward, rather than be married.  Through all that time, I had no other child or prospect of a child.  His lordship was fairly driven into taking a wife.  Ah, how I hate her! Their first child was a boy—­a big, bouncing, healthy brute of a boy!  And six months afterward, my poor little fellow was born.  Only think of it!  And tell me, Jemmy, don’t I deserve to be a happy woman, after suffering such a dreadful disappointment as that?  Is it true that you’re going back to America?”

“Quite true.”

“Take me back with you.”

“With a couple of children?”

“No.  Only with one.  I can dispose of the other in England.  Wait a little before you say No.  Do you want money?”

“You couldn’t help me, if I did.”

“Marry me, and I can help you to a fortune.”

He eyed her attentively and saw that she was in earnest.  “What do you call a fortune?” he asked.

“Five thousand pounds,” she answered.

His eyes opened; his mouth opened; he scratched his head.  Even his impenetrable nature proved to be capable of receiving a shock.  Five thousand pounds!  He asked faintly for “a drop of brandy.”

She had a bottle of brandy ready for him.

“You look quite overcome,” she said.

He was too deeply interested in the restorative influence of the brandy to take any notice of this remark.  When he had recovered himself he was not disposed to believe in the five thousand pounds.

“Where’s the proof of it?” he said, sternly.

She produced her husband’s letter.  “Did you read the Trial of Westerfield for casting away his ship?” she asked.

“I heard of it.”

“Will you look at this letter?”

“Is it long?”

“Yes.”

“Then suppose you read it to me.”

He listened with the closest attention while she read.  The question of stealing the diamonds (if they could only be found) did not trouble either of them.  It was a settled question, by tacit consent on both sides.  But the value in money of the precious stones suggested a doubt that still weighed on his mind.