him.... Isn't it funny to think that these restless boys are here to
inherit the world? We old fogies"--Mrs. Pennybet laughed, for she
didn't mean what she said--"are really done for and shelved. These
boys are the interesting ones, whose tales have yet to be told."

The speaker dropped her voice, as she found herself moralising; and
Lady Gray perceived that an atmosphere of tender speculation had
risen around their conversation. She turned her face away, and
looked over that part of the inheritable world which met her gaze.
From her feet perfect lawns sloped down to a gracious waterway,
which shuddered occasionally in a gentle wind; on every side
pleasing trees were massed into shady and grateful woods; overhead
the noonday sun lit up a deep-blue sky. Perhaps the sublimity of the
scene played upon her softer emotions. Perhaps all intense beauty is
pathetic, and makes one think of poor illusions and unavailing
dreams. Lady Gray wondered why she could not feel, on this serene
morning, the same confidence in Edgar Doe's future, as her friend
felt in Archie's; why she should rather be conscious of a romantic
foreboding. But she only murmured:

"Yes, we must bow before sovereign youth."

And that was the last word uttered, till the sound of hearty boys'
voices, coming from the trunks of the trees, prompted Mrs. Pennybet
to say cheerfully:

"Here they come, the heirs to the world."

As she spoke, Archie Pennybet, dark and dictatorial, and Edgar Doe,
fair and enthusiastic, came into view.