“Upon my word,” smiled Mrs. Blake, “you appear to have distinguished yourself in the conversation.”

“Didn’t I?” said Lottie, untroubled and unabashed:  “I know it struck me so at the time.  Then he said something—­I forget how he put it—­about our being just the right number and pairing off charmingly.  So I said, ’Oh, of course the elder ones went together:  that was only right.’”

“And what did he say?”

“Oh, he pinched his lips together and smiled, and said, ’Don’t you know that Percival is the elder?’”

“But, Lottie, that proves nothing as to his father.”

“Who supposed it did?  I said ’Fiddlededee!  I didn’t mean that:  I supposed they were much about the same age, or if Percy were a month or two older it made no difference.  I meant that Horace was the eldest son’s son, so of course he was A 1.’”

“Well?” said Addie.

“Well, then he looked twice as pleased with himself as he did before, and said, ’I don’t think Horace told you that.  It so happens that Percival is not only the elder by a month or two, as you say, but he is the son of the eldest son.’  Then I said ‘Oh!’ and mamma called me for something, and I went.”

Mrs. Blake and Addie exchanged glances.

“Now, could I have made a mistake?” demanded Lottie.

“It seems plain enough, certainly,” her mother allowed.

“Then, could Godfrey Hammond have made a mistake?  Hasn’t he known the Thornes all their lives? and didn’t he say once that he was named Godfrey after their old grandfather?”

Mrs. Blake assented.

“Then,” said the girl, relapsing into her recumbent position, “perhaps you’ll believe me another time.”

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Blake:  “we’ll see when the other time comes.  If it is as you say, it is curious.”  She rose as she spoke and went to the farther end of the room.  As she stood by an open drawer putting away the ornaments which she had taken off, the candlelight revealed a shadow of perplexity on her face which increased the likeness between herself and Addie.  Apparently, Lottie was right as to her facts.  The estate was not entailed, then, and despotic power seemed to be rather capriciously exercised by the head of the house.  If Horace should displease his grandfather—­if, for instance, he chose a wife of whom old Mr. Thorne did not approve—­would his position be very secure?  Mrs. Blake was uneasy, and felt that it was very wrong of people to play tricks with the succession to an estate like Brackenhill.

Meanwhile, Lottie watched her sister, who was thoughtfully drawing her fingers through her long hair.  “Addie,” she said, after a pause, “what will you do if Horace isn’t the heir after all?”

“What a silly question!  I shan’t do anything:  there’s nothing for me to do.”

“But shall you mind very much?  You are very fond of Horace, aren’t you?”

“Fond of him!” Addie repeated.  “He is very pleasant to talk to, if you mean that.”