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"Very bad for Rosalind," Beaminster commented.

"Oh, I don't know. Rosalind isn't spoiled, not a bit. They've had too hard a time to be spoiled, either of them. It will be grand for Janet now. The old Duke can't live very long and then they'll have a great time."

"That's right," Beaminster growled. "Push us into the grave. We're finished."

"No, you know I don't mean that. The Duke's splendid. Everybody loves him. But there's something rather fine in being Duchess of Romney even in these days. All that history behind you and power to make more. There is something in a family, and something in loving the same soil so many years; you get something back—something your ancestors have given...."

He stopped and prepared to go. He had to dress and be at the Carlton Grill by seven—going to a play.

"By the way," said Beaminster, his hand on the boy's shoulder as they stood by the door, "it's all right about Zoffany's. I went in there to-day."

"Oh, thanks awfully. Uncle John, you are a brick to me. I wish I could do something for you in return."