She was not disappointed. "We went far enough," she thought. "I am not yet ready to put my hand out further than I can draw it back. I cannot give up Cecil now; he is the only private pleasure I have. Every other thing I share with the d.u.c.h.ess, or somebody else. And Piers I should have to share with her and the Duke. As heir to the dukedom, they will always retain a right in his time and interests. No, Lord Exham, not yet--not yet."

She rose with the words, and went to the piano and dashed off in splendid style that famous old military fantasia, "The Battle of Prague." And the drift of her uncontrolled thoughts during it may be guessed by the first query she made of her intelligence when the noisy music ceased:--

"I wonder what the Athelings are doing? Piers says the Squire is at home. I suppose Mrs. Atheling and Kate are coddling, and petting, and feeding him."

In some respects Annabel judged fairly well. The Squire reached his home about the same time that Lord Exham arrived at Richmoor House, and found Mrs. Atheling waiting to receive him. He made no secret of his joy in seeing her again. "I was afraid thou mightst be gadding about somewhere, Maude," he said. "It is pleasant to find thee at home."

"John Atheling!"

"Well, it is too bad to say such a thing, Maude. I knew well I would find thee at home when there was either chance or likelihood of my getting back there. But where is little Kitty? It isn't right without Kitty."

"Well, John, Squire Pickering's family came to London a few days ago, and Kitty has gone to the theatre with them."

"I'll tell thee a good joke about Squire Pickering, Maude," said the Squire, laughing heartily as he spoke. "He was feared young Sam Pickering was going to vote for Reform, and he served a writ on him for a trespa.s.s, or something of that sort, and got him put safely in jail till voting time was over. Then he quashed the writ and let the lad out. But, my word! young Sam is fighting furious, and he has treated his father nearly as bad as Edgar treated me."

"Edgar is going to Parliament now. I told thee he would. John, for goodness' sake, don't quarrel with him before all England!"

"Maude Atheling! I never quarrelled with Edgar. Never! He quarrelled with me. If he had done his duty by his father, we would have been finger and thumb, buckle and strap, yesterday, and to-day, and to-morrow, and every other day. The Duke says my anger at Edgar is quite reasonable and justifiable."

"_The Duke!_ So then thou art framing thy opinions to what _he_ says.

Dear me! I wouldn't have believed such a thing could ever come to pa.s.s."

"Wait till it _does_ come to pa.s.s. Why, Richmoor and I very near came to quarrelling point because I would _not_ frame my opinions by his say-so. I have been looking into things a bit, Maude, more than I ever did before, and I have learned what I am not going to deny for anybody.

I met Philip Brotherton of Knaseborough, and he asked me to go home with him for two or three days--You know Philip and I have been friends ever since we were lads, and our fathers before us."

"I know that."

"So I went with him, and he showed me how working men live and labour in such towns as Leeds and Manchester; and I am not going to say less than it is a sin and a shame to keep human beings alive on such terms. I do not believe any Reform Bill is going to help them; but they ought to be helped; and they must be helped; or else government is nothing but blunderment, and legislating nothing but folly. And I said as much to Richmoor, and he asked me if my son had been lecturing me; and I told him I had been using my own eyes, and my own ears, and my own conscience."

"What did he say to that?"

"He said, 'Squire, I do not like your a.s.sociating with Philip Brotherton. The man has radical ideas, though he does not profess them.' And I said, 'I like Philip Brotherton, and I shall a.s.sociate with him whenever I can make it convenient to do so; and as for his ideas, if they are radical, then Christianity is radical; and as for professing them, Philip Brotherton does better than that, he lives them;' and I went on to say that I thought it would be a right and righteous thing if both landlords and loomlords would do the same."

"My word, John! Thou didst speak up! I'll warrant Richmoor was angry enough."

The Squire laughed a little as he answered, "Well, Maude, he got as red in the face as a turkey-c.o.c.k, and he asked me if I was really going to be Philip Brotherton's fool. And I answered, 'No, I am like you, Duke, I do my own business in that line.' And he said, '_Squire Atheling!_' and turned on his heel and walked one way; and I said, '_Duke Richmoor!_' and turned on my heel and walked the other way. Now then, Maude, dost thou think he orders my opinions for me?"

And Mrs. Atheling smiled understandingly in her lord's face, and cut him a double portion from the best part of the haunch of venison she was carving.

A few days after this event Annabel called one morning at the Athelings.

She expected Cecil North to be there, and he was not there; she waited for him to come, and he did not come; she tried in many devious ways to get Kate to express an opinion about his absence, and Kate seemed entirely unconscious of it. It provoked her into an ill-natured anger; and, casting about in her mind for something disagreeable to say, she remembered her resolve to find out how the sapphire ring came to be in Lord Exham's possession. Even if "the straight way had not been the best way," she was by nature inclined to direct inquiries; and she had just proven in her mental manoeuvring about Cecil North that indirect methods were not satisfactory. So she said bluntly:--

"Kate, did you ever hear about Lord Exham losing a ring he valued very much?"

"Yes," answered Kate, without the slightest embarra.s.sment; "it was my mother's ring."

"Your mother's ring?"

"Yes."

"But Lord Exham had it on his finger."

"My mother loaned it to him. He admired it very much, and wished to have one made like it."

"The d.u.c.h.ess was sure that some lady had given it to him as a love gage.

Do you know that he has fretted himself sick about its loss?"

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

"Oh, no! I am sure he is not sick. My mother made light of the loss to him, though she really was very much attached to that particular ring."

"Have I ever seen her wear it?"

"No. It was too small for her."

"Then it was a simple souvenir?"

"It was more than that; it was her betrothal ring. Father bought it in Venice."

"Oh!"

"But she had a slim little hand, then--like mine is now--" said Kate, laughing, and spreading out her hand for Annabel to observe.

"Then you must have been talking of rings, and shown it to him."

"I was wearing it. I had it on during the lunch hour, and you were present. It is a wonder you did not notice it, for you are so curious about finger-rings."

"Yes, I am quite a ring collector."

"It was rather a singular ring."

"Will you describe it to me?"

Kate did so, and Annabel listened with apparent curiosity. "I wonder what Exham could want with such a queer ring," she said in answer.

"Perhaps he is also a ring collector."

"Perhaps!" But the one word by no means explained the thoughts forming in her mind. She rose, and, lifting her bonnet, went to a mirror and carefully tied the satin ribbons under her chin, in the big bows then considered vastly becoming. Kate tried to arrest her hands. "Stay and take lunch with us," she urged. "Edgar is sure to be here; and I should like him to see you in that pretty cloth pelisse."

"Mr. Atheling never notices me; then why should he notice my pelisse?

I heard Lady Inglis say that he is very much in Miss Curzon's society.

If so, he will clash with his friend Mr. North, who is also her devoted slave."

"Now, Annabel! You know that Cecil North loves no one but you."

"How can you be so wise about his love-affairs?"

"No great wisdom is needed to see what he cannot hide."