These were Lady Charlotte’s glances right and left—­idle flights of the eye of a mounted Amazon across hedges at the canter along the main road of her scheme; which was to do a service to the young man she liked and to the brother she loved, for the marked advantage of both equally; perhaps for the chance of a little gossip to follow about that tenacious woman by whom her brother was held hard and fast, kept away from friends and relatives, isolated, insomuch as to have given up living on his estate—­the old home!—­because he would not disgrace it or incur odium by taking her there.

In consequence of Lord Ormont’s resistance to pressure from her on two or three occasions, she chose to nurse and be governed by the maxim for herself:  Never propose a plan to him, if you want it adopted.  That was her way of harmlessly solacing love’s vindictiveness for an injury.

She sent Arthur Abner a letter, thanking him for his recommendation of young Mr. Weyburn, stating her benevolent wishes as regarded the young man and “those hateful Memoirs,” requesting that her name should not be mentioned in the affair, because she was anxious on all grounds to have the proposal accepted by her brother.  She could have vowed to herself that she wrote sincerely.

“He must want a secretary.  He would be shy at an offer of one from me.  Do you hint it, if you get a chance.  You gave us Mr. Weyburn, and Mr. Eglett and I like him.  Ormont would too, I am certain.  You have obliged him before; this will be better than anything you have done for us.  It will stop the Memoirs, or else give them a polish.  Your young friend has made me laugh over stuff taken for literature until we put on our spectacles.  Leo jogs along in harness now, and may do some work at school yet.”

Having posted her letter, she left the issue to chance, as we may when conscience is easy.  An answer came the day before Weyburn’s departure.  Arthur Abner had met Lord Ormont in the street, had spoken of the rumour of Memoirs promised to the world, hinted at the possible need for a secretary; “Lord Ormont would appoint a day to see Mr. Weyburn.”

Lady Charlotte considered that to be as good as the engagement.

“So we keep you in the family,” she said.  “And now look here:  you ought to know my brother’s ways, if you’re going to serve him.  You’ll have to guess at half of everything he tells you; he’ll expect you to know the whole.  There’s no man so secret.  Why?  He fears nothing; I can’t tell why.  And what his mouth shuts on, he exposes as if in his hand.  Of course he’s proud, and good reason.  You’ll see when you mustn’t offend.  A lady’s in the house—­I hear of it.  She takes his name, they say.  She may be a respectable woman—­I’ve heard no scandal.  We have to hear of a Lady Ormont out of Society!  We have to suppose it means there’s not to be a real one.  He can’t marry if he has allowed her to go about bearing his name.  She has a fool