‘Well, but, Scatcherd—­’

’Well, but doctor, there’s the will, it’s already made.  I don’t want to consult you about that.  You are named as executor, and if you have the heart to refuse to act when I’m dead, why, of course, you can do so.’

The doctor was not lawyer, and hardly knew whether he had any means of extricating himself from this position in which his friend was determined to place him.

’You’ll have to see that will carried out, Thorne.  Now I’ll tell you what I have done.’

‘You’re not going to tell me how you have disposed of your property?’

’Not exactly; at least not all of it.  One hundred thousand I’ve in legacies, including, you know, what Lady Scatcherd will have.’

‘Have you not left the house to Lady Scatcherd?’

’No; what the devil would she do with a house like this?  She doesn’t know how to live in it now she has got it.  I have provided for her; it matters not how.  The house and the estate, and the remainder of my money I have left to Louis Philippe.’

‘What! two hundred thousand pounds?’ said the doctor.

’And why shouldn’t I leave two hundred thousand pounds to my son, even to my eldest son if I have more than one?  Does not Mr Gresham leave all his property to his heir?  Why should not I make an eldest son as well as Lord de Courcy or the Duke of Omnium?  I suppose a railway contractor ought not to be allowed an eldest son by Act of Parliament!  Won’t my son have a title to keep up?  And that’s more than the Greshams have among them.’

The doctor explained away what he said as well as he could.  He could not explain that what he had really meant was this, that Sir Roger Scatcherd’s son was not a man fit to be trusted with the entire control of an enormous fortune.

Sir Roger Scatcherd had but one child; that child which had been born in the days of his early troubles, and had been dismissed from his mother’s breast in order that the mother’s milk might nourish the young heir of Greshamsbury.  The boy had grown up, but had become strong neither in mind nor body.  His father had determined to make a gentleman of him, and had sent to Eton and Cambridge.  But even this receipt, generally as it is recognized, will not make a gentleman.  It is hard, indeed, to define what receipt will do so, though people do have in their own minds some certain undefined, but yet tolerably correct ideas on the subject.  Be that as it may, two years at Eton, and three terms at Cambridge, did not make a gentleman of Louis Philippe Scatcherd.

Yes; he was christened Louis Philippe, after the King of the French.  If one wishes to look out in the world for royal nomenclature, to find children who have been christened after kings and queens, or the uncles and aunts of kings and queens, the search should be made in the families of democrats.  None have so servile a deference for the very nail-parings of royalty; none feel so wondering an awe at the exaltation of a crowned head; none are so anxious to secure themselves some shred or fragment that has been consecrated by the royal touch.  It is the distance which they feel to exist between themselves, and the throne which makes them covet the crumbs of majesty, the odds and ends and chance splinters of royalty.