"They have taken you into partnership!" she cried, rapturously. "They
have found out how clever and good you are!"

In the midst of my agitation I laughed at this very unbusiness-like
idea.

"It is better than that, Clare. There need be no more business, no more
work for me. You remember hearing my mother speak of my father's cousin,
Sir Barnard Trevelyan, of Crown Anstey?"

"Yes, I remember it," she said. "I had almost forgotten."

"He is dead, and, sad to say, both his sons are dead. One died with him,
and one died years ago. Now do you understand?"

"No," she replied. "They cannot have left us anything, because they did
not know us."

"Sir Barnard and his only son died together, and the heir to Crown
Anstey, the title and the whole of that vast fortune is--myself."

"You are not jesting, Edgar?"

"No; I am telling you the simple, perfect truth." And then, when she had
recovered from what to her was really a shock, I gave her the whole
history.

"I hope you will like Mademoiselle, Clare. She is so utterly friendless
and alone that, unless we keep her with us, I do not know what is to
become of her."