The Earl sank back into his chair.  His deep-set fierce old eyes gleamed under his beetling brows.

“Come, now!” he said, still breathlessly.  “Come, now!  You don’t mean the mother hasn’t told him?”

“Not one word, my lord,” replied the lawyer coolly.  “That I can assure you.  The child is prepared to believe you the most amiable and affectionate of grandparents.  Nothing—­absolutely nothing has been said to him to give him the slightest doubt of your perfection.  And as I carried out your commands in every detail, while in New York, he certainly regards you as a wonder of generosity.”

“He does, eh?” said the Earl.

“I give you my word of honor,” said Mr. Havisham, “that Lord Fauntleroy’s impressions of you will depend entirely upon yourself.  And if you will pardon the liberty I take in making the suggestion, I think you will succeed better with him if you take the precaution not to speak slightingly of his mother.”

“Pooh, pooh!” said the Earl.  “The youngster is only seven years old!”

“He has spent those seven years at his mother’s side,” returned Mr. Havisham; “and she has all his affection.”

V

It was late in the afternoon when the carriage containing little Lord Fauntleroy and Mr. Havisham drove up the long avenue which led to the castle.  The Earl had given orders that his grandson should arrive in time to dine with him; and for some reason best known to himself, he had also ordered that the child should be sent alone into the room in which he intended to receive him.  As the carriage rolled up the avenue, Lord Fauntleroy sat leaning comfortably against the luxurious cushions, and regarded the prospect with great interest.  He was, in fact, interested in everything he saw.  He had been interested in the carriage, with its large, splendid horses and their glittering harness; he had been interested in the tall coachman and footman, with their resplendent livery; and he had been especially interested in the coronet on the panels, and had struck up an acquaintance with the footman for the purpose of inquiring what it meant.

When the carriage reached the great gates of the park, he looked out of the window to get a good view of the huge stone lions ornamenting the entrance.  The gates were opened by a motherly, rosy-looking woman, who came out of a pretty, ivy-covered lodge.  Two children ran out of the door of the house and stood looking with round, wide-open eyes at the little boy in the carriage, who looked at them also.  Their mother stood courtesying and smiling, and the children, on receiving a sign from her, made bobbing little courtesies too.

“Does she know me?” asked Lord Fauntleroy.  “I think she must think she knows me.”  And he took off his black velvet cap to her and smiled.

“How do you do?” he said brightly.  “Good-afternoon!”

The woman seemed pleased, he thought.  The smile broadened on her rosy face and a kind look came into her blue eyes.