Yet under this surface sparkle and nervous exaltation Sadie never lost consciousness of the gravity of the situation.  If her sense of humor enabled her to see one side of its grim irony; if she experienced a wicked satisfaction in accepting the admiration and easy confidence of the high-born guests, knowing that her cousin had assisted in preparing the meal they were eating, she had never lost sight of the practical effect of the discovery she had made.  And she had come to a final resolution.  She should leave the Priory at once, and abandon all idea of a matrimonial alliance with its heir!  Inconsistent as this might seem to her selfish, worldly nature, it was nevertheless in keeping with a certain pride and independence that was in her blood.  She did not love Lord Algernon, neither did she love her grandfather; she was equally willing to sacrifice either or both; she knew that neither Lord Algernon nor his father would make her connections an objection, however they might wish to keep the fact a secret, or otherwise dispose of them by pensions or emigration, but she could not bear to know it herself!  She never could be happy as the mistress of Scrooby Priory with that knowledge; she did not idealize it as a principle!  Carefully weighing it by her own practical common sense, she said to herself that “it wouldn’t pay.”  The highest independence is often akin to the lowest selfishness; she did not dream that the same pride which kept her grandfather from the workhouse and support by his daughters, and had even kept him from communicating with his own son, now kept her from acknowledging them, even for the gift of a title and domain.  There was only one question before her:  should she stay long enough to receive the proposal of Lord Algernon, and then decline it?  Why should she not snatch that single feminine joy out of the ashes of her burnt-up illusion?  She knew that an opportunity would be offered that afternoon.  The party were to take tea at Broxby Hall, and Lord Algernon was to drive her there in his dogcart.  Miss Desborough had gone up to her bedroom to put on a warmer cloak, and had rung twice or thrice impatiently for her maid.

When the girl made her appearance, apologetic, voluble, and excited, Miss Desborough scarcely listened to her excuses, until a single word suddenly arrested her attention.  It was “old Debs.”

“What are you talking about?” said Sadie, pausing in the adjustment of her hat on her brown hair.

“Old Debs, miss,—­that’s what they call him; an old park-keeper, just found dead in a pool of water in the fields; the grandfather of one of the servants here; and there’s such an excitement in the servants’ hall.  The gentlemen all knew it, too, for I heard Lord Algernon say that he was looking very queer lately, and might have had a fit; and Lord Beverdale has sent word to the coroner.  And only think, the people here are such fools that they daren’t touch or move the poor man, and him lyin’ there in the rain all the time, until the coroner comes!”