That Stick | Page 8

Miss Morton, for I
understand that the Northmoor property was never considerable. The
late Mr. Morton was very extravagant, and there are heavy burthens on
the estate, by the settlement on his widow, Lady Adela, and on the late
Lord's daughter. Miss Lang tells me likewise that Miss Marshall is full
of doubts and scruples, and is almost persuaded that it is incumbent on
her to drop the engagement at any cost to herself. She is very
conscientious!'
'Poor thing!' sighed more than one voice.
'It is a serious question,' continued the solicitor, 'and I own that I think
it would be better for both if she were induced to release him.'
'Has she no relations of her own?'
'None that I ever heard of. She has always spent her holidays at Miss
Lang's.'
'Well, Mr. Burford,' exclaimed Freda, 'I think you are frightfully cruel
to my poor little Creep-mouse.'
'Nay, Freda,' said her mother; 'all that Mr. Burford is considering is
whether it would be for the happiness or welfare of either to be raised
to a position for which she is not prepared.'
'I thought you were on her side, mother.'
'There are no sides, Freda,' said her father reprovingly. 'The whole must
rest with the persons chiefly concerned, and no one ought to interfere or
influence them in either direction.' Having thus rebuked Mr. Burford
quite as much as his daughter, he added, 'Where is Lord Northmoor
now?'
'He wrote to me from Northmoor after the funeral, Sir Edward, saying
that he would return on Saturday. Of course, though three months'
notice would be due, I should not expect it, as I told him at first; but he
assures me that he will not leave me till my arrangements for supplying

his place are complete, and he will assist me as usual.'
'It is very proper of him,' said Sir Edward.
'It will be awkward in some ways,' said Mr. Burford. 'Yet I do not know
what I could otherwise have done, he had become so necessary to me.'
'Stick or no stick,' was the family comment of the Kentons, 'there must
be something in the man, if only his head is not turned.'
'Which,' observed Sir Edward, 'is not possible to a stick with a real head,
but only too easy to a sham one.'
CHAPTER IV
HONOURS WANING
'And who is the man?' So asked a lady in deep mourning of another still
more becraped, as they sat together in the darkened room of a
Northmoor house on the day before the funeral.
The speaker had her bonnet by her side, and showed a kindly, clever,
middle-aged face. She was Mrs. Bury, a widow, niece of the late Lord;
the other was his daughter, Bertha Morton, a few years younger. She
was not tearful, but had dark rings round her eyes, and looked haggard
and worn.
'The man? I never heard of him till this terrible loss of poor little
Mikey.'
'Then did he put in a claim?'
'Oh no, but Hailes knew about him, and so, indeed, did my father. It
seems that three generations ago there was a son who followed the
instincts of our race further than usual, and married a jockey's daughter,
or something of that sort. He was set up in a horse-breeding farm and
cut the connection; but it seems that there was always a sort of
communication of family events, so that Hailes knew exactly where to

look for an heir.'
'Not a jockey!'
'Oh no, nothing so diverting. That would be fun!' Bertha said, with a
laugh that had no merriment in it. 'He is a clerk--an attorney's clerk!
What do you think of that, Lettice?'
'Better than the jockey.'
'Oh, very respectable, they say'--with a sound of disgust.
'Is he young?'
'No; caught early, something might be done with him, but there's not
that hope. He is not much less than forty. Fancy a creature that has
pettifogged, as an underling too, all his life.'
'Married?'
'Thank goodness, no, and all the mammas in London and in the country
will be running after him. Not that he will be any great catch, for of
course he has nothing--and the poor place will be brought to a low ebb.'
'And what do you mean to do, Birdie?'
'Get out of sight of it all as fast as possible! Forget that horses ever
existed except as means of locomotion,' and Bertha got up and walked
towards the window as if restless with pain, then came back.
'I shall get rid of all I can--and come to live as near as I can to
Whitechapel, and slum! I'm free now.' Then looking at her cousin's
sorrowful, wistful face, 'Work, work, work, that's all that's good for me.
Soberly, Lettice, this is