What was he to do? He would only bring scorn on himself by appearing jealous of the tradesman. The idea of her being in love with the fellow was preposterous! The notion was an insult! He must put a stop to it! He must send the man away. It would be a pity for the library. It was beginning to look beautiful, and would soon have been the most distinguished in the county. But there were other bookbinders! And what did the library matter! Yet she would be sure to suspect why the fellow was sent packing and might take offense. She might never enter the house again. Therefore, he must leave the thing alone—for the present! But he would be on his guard!

While the son was thus desiring a good riddance of the man he had brought into the house, the mother was pondering the same thing. Should the man remain in the house or leave it? That was the question with her also. And if they asked him to leave, what would be the pretext? She was growing more and more uncomfortable with the possibilities—a man used to the low ways of a trade, a man dirty and greasy, hardly in his right place at work in the library, the grandson of a blacksmith with brawny arms and smutty face. The whole thing was disgusting!

If sir Wilton had but kept to his own rank, none of this would have come upon them. Lady Ann’s god was the head of the English aristocracy, and a baseborn illegitimate could not, in the nature of things divinely ordained, have the same rights as her son. An age-long process of degeneration had been going on in her race, and she was the result—she was well-born and well-bred for caring about nothing except herself. How fearful that through the generations the body may go on perfecting while the heart goes on degenerating! Lady Ann was indeed born capable of less than most. But had she attempted to do the little she could, she would not have been where she was—she would have been toiling up the hill of truth, with her success to be measured, like the widow’s mite, by what she had not.

All her thoughts were now occupied with the rights of her son and, through him, of the family. Sir Wilton had been for some time ailing. Lady Ann cared nothing for the right. The law of the land was to be respected, no doubt, but your own family—most of all when land was concerned—was worthier still!