“You think,” said Mr. Hobbs, “there’s no getting out of it?”

“I’m afraid not,” answered Cedric.  “My mamma says that my papa would wish me to do it.  But if I have to be an earl, there’s one thing I can do:  I can try to be a good one.  I’m not going to be a tyrant.  And if there is ever to be another war with America, I shall try to stop it.”

His conversation with Mr. Hobbs was a long and serious one.  Once having got over the first shock, Mr. Hobbs was not so rancorous as might have been expected; he endeavored to resign himself to the situation, and before the interview was at an end he had asked a great many questions.  As Cedric could answer but few of them, he endeavored to answer them himself, and, being fairly launched on the subject of earls and marquises and lordly estates, explained many things in a way which would probably have astonished Mr. Havisham, could that gentleman have heard it.

But then there were many things which astonished Mr. Havisham.  He had spent all his life in England, and was not accustomed to American people and American habits.  He had been connected professionally with the family of the Earl of Dorincourt for nearly forty years, and he knew all about its grand estates and its great wealth and importance; and, in a cold, business-like way, he felt an interest in this little boy, who, in the future, was to be the master and owner of them all,—­the future Earl of Dorincourt.  He had known all about the old Earl’s disappointment in his elder sons and all about his fierce rage at Captain Cedric’s American marriage, and he knew how he still hated the gentle little widow and would not speak of her except with bitter and cruel words.  He insisted that she was only a common American girl, who had entrapped his son into marrying her because she knew he was an earl’s son.  The old lawyer himself had more than half believed this was all true.  He had seen a great many selfish, mercenary people in his life, and he had not a good opinion of Americans.  When he had been driven into the cheap street, and his coupe had stopped before the cheap, small house, he had felt actually shocked.  It seemed really quite dreadful to think that the future owner of Dorincourt Castle and Wyndham Towers and Chorlworth, and all the other stately splendors, should have been born and brought up in an insignificant house in a street with a sort of green-grocery at the corner.  He wondered what kind of a child he would be, and what kind of a mother he had.  He rather shrank from seeing them both.  He had a sort of pride in the noble family whose legal affairs he had conducted so long, and it would have annoyed him very much to have found himself obliged to manage a woman who would seem to him a vulgar, money-loving person, with no respect for her dead husband’s country and the dignity of his name.  It was a very old name and a very splendid one, and Mr. Havisham had a great respect for it himself, though he was only a cold, keen, business-like old lawyer.