“No matter!” answered Lestrange, “I will not have you meddling further with that volume. Would you believe it,” he went on, turning to the curate, “to experiment on such a rare book!”

“I beg your pardon, I am not experimenting,” said Richard.

“I hardly think it is such a very rare book,” replied the curate. “I believe it could be replaced.”

“Never!” said Lestrange. “It’s inscribed personally! Didn’t you look at the title page, by Jove!” he said, turning to Richard.

“I always examine the title page of a book,” answered Richard. “But the signature on this one was not written by him who owned the name.”

“A forgery! What do you know about it?” asked Lestrange rudely.

“Are you an expert?” inquired the curate.

“By no means,” answered Richard, “but I have been a good deal with old books, and my impression is that you have got there one of the Ireland forgeries!”

“I believe it to be quite genuine!” said Lestrange.

“If you are right, there is all the more reason in what I am doing, sir.”

Lestrange turned abruptly to the curate, saying, “Come along, Hardy! I can’t bear to see this butchery!”

“Depend on it,” returned the curate, laughing, “the surgeon knows his knife! You do know what you’re about, don’t you, Mr. Tuke?”

“If I did not, sir, I wouldn’t meddle with a book like this, forgery or no forgery! You should see the quantities of old worthless print I’ve destroyed in learning how to save such books. And this is no volume to experiment on.”

“Mr. Lestrange, you may trust that man!” said the curate.

— Eight —

Barbara Wylder

It was now at the height of the social season, sir Wilton Lestrange and lady Ann were in London—perhaps not enjoying themselves, for it is doubtful whether either of them was capable of enjoying self, or anything else. Sir Wilton and lady Ann had certainly not grown closer in love by the development of their own individualities. Where all is selfishness on both sides, other likenesses that may exist will rarely come into play. What little common ground they had once shared had long been, if not forgotten, submerged under the waters of their mutual hostility.

If lady Ann had ever got the idea into her pinched soul that the human race is one family, it would have only strengthened her general dislike of humanity. On the whole, however, they got on rather better than might have been expected, partly in virtue of her sharp tongue and thick skin, which combination of offensive and defensive put sir Wilton at considerable disadvantage. However sharp his retort might be, she never felt it.

Lady Ann had brought him four children—two daughters and two sons. Theodora, the elder girl, had been out for a year or two but preferred Mortgrange to London. Victoria, the younger, was under the care of Miss Malliver, a governess of uncertain age for whom lady Ann had an uncertain liking. The elder sister was common in feature and slow in wit, but she had eyes and a heart. The younger, commonly called Vic, and not uncommonly Vixen, was clever and malicious.