anything for anybody at present. I may die before my uncle. Nothing is
more likely. But then, if I do, Jack would be my uncle's heir."

"I don't believe there's anything in it at all," said Lady Scroope in
great dudgeon.

"I dare say not. If there is, they haven't told me. It's not likely they
would. But I thought I saw something coming up, and as it seemed to be
the most natural thing in the world, I mentioned it. As for me,--Miss
Mellerby doesn't care a straw for me. You may be sure of that."

"She would--if you'd ask her."

"But I never shall ask her. What's the use of beating about the bush,
aunt? I never shall ask her; and if I did, she wouldn't have me. If you
want to make Sophie Mellerby your niece, Jack's your game."

Lady Scroope was ineffably disgusted. To be told that "Jack was her
game" was in itself a terrible annoyance to her. But to be so told in
reference to such a subject was painful in the extreme. Of course she
could not make this young man marry as she wished. She had acknowledged
to herself from the first that there could be no cause of anger against
him should he not fall into the silken net which was spread for him.
Lady Scroope was not an unreasonable woman, and understood well the
power which young people have over old people. She knew that she
couldn't quarrel with Fred Neville, even if she would. He was the heir,
and in a very few years would be the owner of everything. In order
to keep him straight, to save him from debts, to protect him from
money-lenders, and to secure the family standing and property till he
should have made things stable by having a wife and heir of his own, all